


Jealousy

by Fitzsimmons_Forever



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining, Romance, Season/Series 05, Slow Burn, Snark, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 221,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzsimmons_Forever/pseuds/Fitzsimmons_Forever
Summary: "Unsurprisingly, Wolfram and Hart is a terrible place to work. The food in the canteen is awful (no tacos!), the hours are long, the clients are evil, and our staff are most likely plotting against us. But all of that pales in comparison to the undoubtedly, by far and away, no contest, worst thing about working here: Her. With a capital H. She's evil, annoying, grating, evil, not half as clever as she thinks she is, duplicitous, evil, and clingy. And the most evil, wicked individual I've ever met, no matter what act she puts on, and she's somehow fooled Wesley completely!"What if it wasn't Fred who someone at Wolfram and Hart found charming, but Wesley? And how would Fred react? (Poorly - very, very poorly)





	1. New Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is set at the start of Angel season 5, and is set to be a very slow burn. I will try to post chapters weekly, time and internet connection allowing. Kudos and especially comments are greatly appreciated, and help me to improve my writing! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

**Wesley**

Wolfram and Hart. I was working for Wolfram and Hart. I was standing… in the atrium… of Wolfram and Hart. 

To work here.

I wasn’t infiltrating the building to look for intel or rob the vault. I wasn’t here to fight them or frustrate their plans. I’d driven into the underground garage, parked, and got in the lift with a small box of stationary. To put in my office. Inside Wolfram and Hart. 

Whom I now worked for. I was having quite a lot of trouble getting my head around it. Gunn was scouting out offices, Angel wasn’t in yet, Fred was apparently on her way, and Lorne was around somewhere already settling in to his new job as head of the entertainment division.

I should probably try and find Sirk. He’d been in charge of the Mystical side of things until we’d taken over, I might be able to start trying to get my head around what sort of schemes the Senior Partners had running that I could frustrate. Where would I find Sirk’s office? Where would I find a map of the building? The entire internal structure had been rearranged since I’d last been here, and everything was different. Maybe it was a deliberate ploy to keep us off balance. Regardless, I needed to find a map. I set off across the lobby, slowing to a halt as the lift doors opened on my right. Fred had arrived… facing the wrong direction.

“Fred?” I called out hesitantly.

“Wesley!” Fred turned around and ran for the doors as they started to close. I stepped forward, planting one hand to keep them open as she snuck through. She managed to shoulder past me, box of stuff clutched protectively in her arms. “Oh, I’m always getting turned around.” Fred shook her head and began to walk through the atrium, looking around in awe.

“Can I help you with any of that?” I asked, eyeing Fred’s overflowing box - almost splitting at the corners - of belongings with caution.

“It’s so big.” She murmured, shaking her head, eyes still flitting around the room.

“It does take some getting used to.” I said slowly. No need to mention I wasn’t close to being used to it yet.

“Have you seen my lab?” Fred made eye contact for the first time. “It’s giganamous! And I’m in charge!”

Fred shook her head and started walking towards the stairs. She didn’t have anything to worry about: her ability to juggle a dozen different trains of thought simultaneously would be perfect for running a sprawling lab complex. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble-”

“I don’t even understand half of what they’re doing…” Fred murmured, shaking her head, before turning to face me. “There's this machine, 6 feet tall, it makes this noise— whoompa! Whoompa! Phht! … Not a clue.” I was reminded abruptly of how cute Fred was. It would probably be a bad idea to let her keep talking about science.

“Well,” I frowned. “I’m still stuck back at ‘why on Earth are we here?”

“What, because we're crusaders against evil and now the law firm that represents most of the evil in the world has given us its L.A. branch to run however we want,” I had no idea how Fred talked for so long without catching her breath, did she have a secondary pair of lungs? “Probably in an attempt to corrupt, divide, or destroy us, and we all said yes in, like, three minutes?” Perhaps we had rushed into this. But the resources we were being offered…

Besides, it wasn’t like Wolfram and Hart could turn us against each other. We’d been through too much to let any group of people so obviously evil drive us apart. All of us knew not to trust this place, or anyone here… Fred’s remarkably succinct and explanatory monologue had covered that.

I nodded. “Your run-on sentences have got a lot less pointless.” I offered, for want of anything else to say.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Fred smiled. Then her smile dimmed. “And a… tad condescending.”

Bloody hell, less than two minutes into the working day and I’d offended her. That had to be a new record. I could at least help with the box, try to make up for it. “Are you sure I can’t help you with-”

“Mr Wyndam-Pryce!” A voice called from the stairs behind Fred, cutting me off. I looked away from Fred, searching for the speaker. A petite young woman was doing a mad cross between speed walking and running down the stairs, seemingly in an effort to compromise between speed and not dropping the disposable cups she was carrying, one in each hand. “Sorry I’m late, I’ve been searching all over for you!”

“Right.” I blinked as she stumbled to a stop at the foot of the stairs, breathing heavily. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Oh, of course!” Green eyes widened and she stuck out one hand, still holding a cup. She blinked at her hand and hastily put both cups on the floor, smoothing down her flowery skirt on her way back up, and stuck out her hand again for a handshake. “Samantha Jennings, deputy head of Research and Intelligence, at your service!” She beamed.

“Right.” I nodded and shook her hand. She had a firm handshake. And remarkably soft skin. “I’m-”

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Head of Research and Intelligence!” Samantha nodded eagerly, smiling brightly. “I, err, know who you are. _Sir!_ Sorry, I got this whole briefing on you, but it didn’t mention how many sugars you liked in your tea?”

“Two.” I answered automatically, mind still reeling. So if she was deputy head, and I was head, was she-

“Thought so!” Samantha bent down to pick up one of the disposable cups and handed it over. I blinked. She smiled. “Tea, freshly brewed!”

“Oh. Thank you.” I sipped hesitantly, then blinked.

It was perfect. I eyed it suspiciously. I’d been living in America for almost five years now, and no American had ever made me a cup of tea approaching this quality. “This is really good.”

“Really?” Samantha grinned widely. “That’s great! I was really nervous about meeting you, I mean, me and my old boss didn’t have the best working relationship, so I wanted to get things off to a good start, so I went to the effort of making tea but I didn’t know how many sugars you liked, and then I couldn’t find you, and the tea was getting cold, and now I found you and you like the tea so it’s all fine!” Samantha gasped for air.

I tried to catch up with everything she’d said while I gave her a once-over. She was about Fred’s height, her pale, creamy skin a stark contrast to the bright blue hue of her cardigan. She had a cute button nose, luminous green eyes with long fluttery lashes and a lower lip that showed signs of being chewed thoughtfully, and frequently. The thick curls of hair falling slightly messily around her heart-shaped face seemed to be having trouble deciding whether they were blonde or brunette, settling for an overall golden hue with a subtle hint of milk chocolate. She was very slender, and appeared quite tuckered out from her mad tea-dash followed by near constant talking without stopping for air. She was very pretty in an elfish, classical kind of way.

“So…” I sifted through the sentence. “I’m your new boss?”

“Yep!” Samantha nodded vigorously, then laughed nervously. “Unless you fire me! Please don’t.”

“Right. Ah. Samantha-”

“Oh, don’t call me that, you’ll remind me of my principal.” Samantha — or not-Samantha, as she might prefer to be called or thought of — shook her head. “I… umm… prefer Sam. If that’s alright. I mean, if you really want - or just want, doesn’t have to be really - you can call me Samantha, I mean you’re my boss and I shouldn’t have asked-” She looked like she was panicking.

“Sam’s fine.” I said reassuringly. Sam sighed in relief and picked up the other cup from the floor, turning to Fred - who of course was still here - and offering it. “Sam, this is Fred.”

“Dr Burkle!” Sam grinned, glancing Fred up and down. “Wow! In the flesh. That’s amazing. Wow.Great to see a fellow Texan at Wolfram and Hart, there aren’t enough of us around! Oh, do you want some tea? This one has… three sugars, I think.” Texan, of course, that explained the soothing, honey-like tones.

“Oh, my hands are full.” Fred smiled, hefting her box meaningfully.

“Do you need me to get that?” Sam eyed the box. “It looks like you might be strug-”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Fred smiled and shook her head. “All’s well here.” Sam nodded and put the cup down on the floor next to Fred.

“Sam.” I frowned. “I was under the impression Rutherford Sirk would be my direct subordinate, do you know-”

Sam swallowed, brushing a stray curl behind one ear. She nodded. “Right. He gave you the tour yesterday, didn’t he? Showed you the books… and then you kinda…” Sam hesitated, chewing her lip. “Please don’t knock me unconscious.”

I chuckled. “I won’t, don’t worry. So, what happened to-”

“Sirk! Sorry, right. Umm. So after you guys agreed to take over and went home, I was helping Sirk get the department ready for you to take over and it turned out I mis-shelved one of his anthologies, and then he was yelling at me - which he often did - and then he threatened to liquify me-”

“Hang on.” I blinked, not sure if I heard correctly. “He threatened to _liquify_ you?”

“He did that whenever I annoyed him or didn’t have something done fast enough.” Sam nodded. “Which was often. It was pretty scary. Anyway, he was threatening to liquify me, and then the Liaison to the Partners came in and told me that Sirk had been taking bribes from an enemy of the firm and that I was going to be promoted to Deputy Head of Research and Intelligence and then Sirk kinda… well…”

Sam swallowed. “He liquified.”

Fred frowned. “You mean…”

“Puddle.” Sam went slightly green. “On the floor. Partners were pretty cross with him. It was… _yuck_. I mean, I was planning on having soup for dinner yesterday and I couldn’t even listen to it do that sloshy thing it does in the packet without getting all queasy so I had to eat something else instead, but anyway I was told to clean up the… the _puddle_ and get the department ready for Mr Wyndam-Pryce to take over and… here you are. We are.”

“So the upshot is… you’re my second-in-command?” I said hesitantly.

Sam nodded, hair bouncing up and down. “That’s right! I have a quick initiation presentation to give actually, with some annotated resources, just to umm… help you settle in, grab the horse by the reins, get off to a running start! All those things.”

I hesitated: that sounded incredibly helpful. I turned to Fred, who was frowning. “Fred, do you need-”

“Oh, of course!” Slam slapped her forehead and smiled sheepishly. “Silly me. You must be so lost Fred, the signposting is terrible in these places, I remember I used to get lost all the time at first! If you want, I can help you find your way to Practical Science, we can all go together, then me and Mr Wyndam-Pryce can loop back and-”

“I’m more than capable of finding my own lab, thanks.” Fred nodded.

“Oh!” Sam’s eyes widened. “Of course, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that-”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Fred started looking around, frowning slightly. “Say, the scientist who gave me the tour yesterday… Knox? Do you know where he is? I could do with my own initiation guide…”

“Oh.” Sam blinked. “Knox. Right. Well. It turned out he wasn’t exactly the most loyal so yesterday evening the partners… they kinda… y’know…”

“They liquified him?” Fred’s eyes widened. Sam nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I think the new Practical Science deputy is Dr Sill,” Sam frowned, then nodded confidently. “You’ll love him, he’s this really smart - I mean probably not as smart as either of you, because who is, but he seems smart to me - scientist with a proper white Gandalf beard, he’s great! Decades of experience under his belt.”

“Fantastic.” Fred said weakly. 

“Did… anyone else get liquified?” I asked. “And will the Senior Partners continue to do that?”  
“I don’t think anyone else did…” Sam frowned. “And I… think the second part is up to you guys, really. I mean, you’re the new bosses. Speaking of which… initiation? There are some cases on your desk already…”

  
Oh, damn. I hadn’t even found my desk yet and there was already work sitting on it. “That’s probably best.” I turned to Fred. “That is, if you don’t mind-”

“No, it’s fine.” Fred waved one hand, almost dropping the box. “I’m good here. You go get started on initiation.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand with that box?” Sam offered helpfully. “Or like, directions, maybe a map, ooh I could do a quick-”

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand with that box?” Sam frowned slightly, eyeing my - admittedly slightly tenuous - grip on the box sceptically. “Or like, directions, maybe a map, ooh I could do a quick-”

She was kind of grating. Which was weird, because she hadn’t actually done anything bad. Except somehow look completely put together, glamorous, and on top of everything first thing in the morning, when I felt overwhelmed and completely unsure what I was meant to do. “Sam, really I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

Wesley shot me a concerned look. I waved him off, shaking my head. He had important work to get started on. With Sam. She glanced between Wesley and me, then her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt a… I mean you two were… I’ll just be-”

“You weren’t interrupting anything.” I informed her quickly, trying to keep myself from flushing. Wesley and I were just best friends, we weren’t… whatever Sam thought we were. I turned to Wesley. “You should probably get started on the work. I’ll be fine.”

“Best of luck, then.” Wesley nodded and turned to Sam. “Lead the way.”

“Mr Gunn picked the office over there, so this one’s gonna be yours if that’s alright.” Sam explained, making her way towards one of the offices around the atrium, Wesley close behind her. “I’ve prepared a quick presentation on-”

Sam looked over her shoulder at me and waved, cutting herself off. “Oh, it was lovely to meet you!” I smiled and waved back. Sam continued chatting animatedly to Wesley as they approached one of the offices.

“Hey, Fred.” I turned around, smiling at Charles as he walked over, basketball in hand.

“Hi, Charles.” I kept one eye on Wesley as Sam ushered him into what I could only assume was his office, still speaking quite fast if the way her mouth was moving was any indication.

“How’s Wes doing?” Charles spun the basketball on one finger idly.

“Samantha’s taking very good care of him.” I gripped my box slightly tighter. “Do you think it's incredibly unprofessional, not to mention unwise and reckless, to be on a nickname-basis with a probably-evil employee of a definitely evil law firm less than five minutes after meeting them?”

“Sure.” Charles nodded, then frowned. “Huh?”

“Oh, Wesley’s deputy.” I explained, frowning. “_Samantha Jennings_. I’ve got a funny feeling about her.”

“Good funny or bad funny?” Charles raised an eyebrow.

“Bad funny.” I frowned, a strange prickly heat washing over my skin. “Very bad funny.”

“We can keep an eye on her then. Do you need help with the box?” Charles offered. Concerned green eyes, long fluttery eyelashes and pouty lips flashed across my vision and I shook my head determinedly. “Alright, what’s this Sam like?”

“She’s…” I hesitated, trying to work out what had set alarm bells ringing. “… nice. And overly friendly. Which is weird,and suspicious, for Wolfram and Hart, isn’t it?”

“Guess so.” Charles nodded. “Still, it’d make sense that-”

Charles stopped talking when the elevator doors opened and Angel strode out, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a suit, and more broody than usual.

“Angel!” I started walking after him. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Fred. Morning Charles.” Angel nodded, not slowing down. “Did you hear what happened to me last night?”

“You got lucky?” Charles quipped, grinning.

“They put a tracer on me.” Angel glowered. “I was working the town, helping the helpless, which is a thing I like to do. All of a sudden, the entire firm shows up in the alley.”

“Oh.” That was creepy. “Well, I can make sure that doesn’t happen again! Y’know, scan you for bugs when you go out in future or maybe design you a jacket that automatically blocks transmissions from trackers. And while I’m designing a jacket I could make it bulletproof - or I guess wooden-stake proof - and put in weapons, an integrated communications thing, a spare set of keys in case you lose yours-”

“Thanks, Fred.” Angel cut me off gently, expression turning stony. “We're turning this place inside out. If they wanna see how I handle running Wolfram & Hart, they're gonna find out. Everything must go.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Alright.” I examined the organisational chart thoughtfully. “So I head up the department.”

“Yep!” Sam nodded.

“And you report directly to me.”

“That’s right.”

“And then there’s the sub-department leaders for shamans and psychics, archivists, and researchers?” I questioned. “All of whom report solely to me?”

Sam nodded. “Sounds like you’ve got the hang of it.” It was strange that Sam existed outside the command structure like that: reporting only to me, and nobody else reporting to her…

I realised that Sam was still standing by the little portable whiteboard she’d set up to explain everything when we hadn’t actually referred to it for several minutes. “Sam, you can sit down.”

“Are you sure?” Sam bit her lip. “I don’t have to sit down, I’m good standing! You probably want to keep these chairs nice for clients, don’t want a fidgeter like me sitting-”

I chuckled, despite myself. “Please.”

“Alright.” Sam slunk over to a chair and sat down in it hesitantly, like she expected it to decapitate her. “Thanks, Mr Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Please, just call me Wesley.” I frowned thoughtfully, surveying the various materials Sam had prepared for me. 

How had Sam risen through the ranks in Wolfram and Hart? She didn’t seem evil - and if she was, she was playing the most masterful con I’d ever seen, because I was good at spotting liars and I’d detected no warning signs - on the contrary, she was positively… bubbly. Quirky, certainly, but in a friendly, kind of cute, adorable way. And she’d clearly grated on Sirk’s nerves, which was frankly enough to earn my stamp of approval.

Wait a second.

“Sam,” I hesitated, glancing around the room suspiciously. “You mentioned the Partners liquified Sirk during a meeting… would that have been in this room?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “What did you think the stain on your chair was?”  
“Oh God!” I leapt to my feet, sending the chair spinning to the floor behind me, turning to glare at it, feeling repulsed and disgusted and…

There was no stain. I turned to face an aghast-looking Sam. “Sorry, that was meant to be funny!” She leapt to her own feet. “I’m so sorry Mr Wyndam-Pryce, I was going to say ‘just kidding’ then you leapt up, and now I’ve I leapt up, and now it feels too late to-”

I burst out laughing, bending down to pick up my chair and sitting back down. I motioned for Sam to do the same. “I’m partial to a little gallows humour, Sam.” I smiled warningly. “But please… don’t imply I’ve been sitting on the liquified remains of a human being again.”

“Sorry,” Sam laughed nervously, brushing some stray strands of hair out of her eyes. “Too far, I get it. Sirk got liquified somewhere else, don’t worry. And I made sure the carpet and floor were replaced afterwards.”

“Very good, then.” Back to the question of how Sam - who appeared very unlikely to have the ruthless streak needed to advance at Wolfram and Hart - had got this far. “Sam, if we’re going to be working together, I’d like to know some more about your capabilities.”

“Of course.” Sam smoothed down her skirt, then teased a folder out of a small pile resting in my in-tray and put in in front of me, flipping it open. “Personnel dossier for Research and Intelligence personnel. I only had most of last night to compile it, so it’s a bit thin on detail I’m afraid, I could spend the morning adding in some more information if you’d like…”

“I can just ask you if I have questions for now.” I murmured, scanning the contents page. Samantha Jennings, first page in the employee list. I opened the folder to that page and scanned the page quickly.

Recruited to Wolfram and Hart from Harvard University archaeological department… been working for Wolfram and Hart for the past three years… moderate knowledge of demonic and arcane languages and lore… list of previous positions within the company… strengths and weaknesses…

“One of your weaknesses is listed as ‘talks too much’?” I frowned at Sam.

Sam blushed bright pink. “Oh, I, err, I tend to babble. When I’m nervous or enthusiastic or just under pressure, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed my tendency to do so already, considering I thought I was…” Sam trailed off. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m used to it.” I mused, looking over the page. ‘Moderate’ knowledge of demonic languages and lore wasn’t a good sign, especially since Sam had admitted to writing the dossier herself. If I remembered anything about these kinds of reports, then moderate was probably a stretch. It would be a good idea to test her out, examine how much she actually know. “So, you’ve written here you have moderate knowledge of arcane, ancient and demonic languages?” I questioned.

Sam nodded. “I mean, just learning-on-the-job stuff, nothing like Watcher training. And I’m very limited in a lot of areas, my boss made that clear. Lots still to learn.”

I cleared my throat, took a second to marshal the vocabulary and asked in slightly broken Sumerian. “How’s your spoken Sumerian?”

Sam tilted one hand from left to right in the universal gesture for ‘meh’ and spoke. “Very rusty and underdeveloped. I have yet to fully master the correct grammar, my vocabulary is tragically limited and my former leader Mister Sirk informed me repeatedly and unambiguously that my pronunciation was a disgrace.” Sam winced and shifted her head slightly, like she expected me to start shouting at her. I blinked.

Her Sumerian was perfect. Pronunciation, grammar… everything. She sounded like a native speaker, which was ridiculous because Sumerian was a _dead language_. Reeling, I swapped to Pylean. “Your Sumerian is very good, Sam. Is it your best language, and how many other languages do you speak?”

Sam smiled indulgently, then responded in flawless Pylean. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr Wyndam-Pryce, but you don’t need to flatter me because it’s your first day. Mr Sirk made clear the many gaps in my knowledge and deficiencies when it came to demonic languages and arcane lore, which was why he kept me from interacting with the rest of the department and spreading misinformation. My knowledge is certainly vastly inferior to anyone with Watcher Academy training and he made sure I reported directly to him so that he could screen out all the mistakes I made. It is very generous of you to overlook my errors, but as my shortcomings could prove quite dangerous in the long run, please continue to appraise me of them. But please don’t threaten to liquify me for them.” Sam paused for breath. “Sumerian isn’t one of my ‘better’ languages, if you can call any of them better which you really shouldn’t. At my last count, I could speak brokenly in fourteen demonic or arcane languages, and atrociously in sixteen more. I can do read-and-write only exercises for another twelve or so by memory, and I am of course capable of using the translation guides Wolfram and Hart keep on hand to provide lacklustre translations of some others.”

I leaned back in my chair, trying very hard to keep my mouth from dropping open. Watcher Academy training had _nothing_ on this, she was speaking Pylean like she’d lived there all her life and was apparently under the opinion her grasp of the language was tenuous. And if she was even a fraction as proficient in the rest of her languages… damn. Just how blind had Sirk… oh.

Oh.

“Sam,” I changed back to English. “When you were working for Sirk… how many of the reports and pieces of work you made for him got passed directly up the chain?”

“Most of them, I think.” Sam frowned. “But he had to work all the errors out of them first. _Copious_ errors. He spent hours cooped up in here fixing my mistakes while I was in the archives or the library working on the next piece.”

“And did Sirk ever show you any of the mistakes you’d made?” I asked, examining Sam’s expression carefully. Could she really have not seen what had been happening?

“No.” Sam sighed unhappily, wrapping one strand of hair around a finger and twirling. “He always said that if he just _showed_ me all my mistakes he had to correct, I’d never learn. I had to figure it out myself. I spent hours, worked late nights, burned the midnight oil… but I never got any of it right. Not properly. He worked himself half to death fixing my mistakes…”

Sam looked at me hopefully. “I don’t suppose that… you’d help me out, would you? I mean, assuming you even want a screw-up like me on your staff…”

She really had no idea. I felt a sudden surge of anger at Sirk. Now it made perfect sense why Sam had risen as far as she had, and no further. Sirk had been having her do all the work for him, taking credit for the stunning job she had obviously been doing if what she’d done just now was any indication, and hiding that fact by claiming she was making errors and ‘correcting’ them out of her sight. He’d driven her to work herself near half to death, and threatened to liquify her if she didn’t deliver. Sam seemed clever, hardworking and utterly guileless: perfect fodder for a scheme like that. Kept away from the rest of the department so nobody would spot that she was doing all of the work or point out that actually, her work looked just fine and there weren’t any mistakes in it.

This place really was the worst.

I felt a new niggling suspicion. Sam was apparently under the impression her grasp of demonic languages was ‘moderate’. And she’d said the same thing about her knowledge of arcane lore. Could she possibly…

“Sam, assume for the purposes of this exercise that I have no knowledge of arcane lore whatsoever.” I instructed. Sam nodded. “Now, if I told you I wanted to kill a Thesulac demon, what would you tell me?”

“They’re paranoia demons.” Sam recited. “Incorporeal, they feed on and inflame fear. If you wanted to kill it, you’d need to make it corporealise, for which you’d need an Orb of Ramjarin. Then there’s the incantation, let me just write that down for you here, and then you’d need to actually fight it. So, watch out for the tentacles and they’re pretty big and strong.”

“What if you can’t find an Orb of Ramjarin?” I asked. I was being unfair here. But I had to see if Sam just had a knack for languages, or if…

“Well, I suppose you’d need to gather up a lot of paranoid people and let the Thesulac feast on them, then it would manifest.” Sam frowned. “But that would make it pretty strong, and you’d have to terrify a whole bunch of people, and they’d probably be an angry mob and… the orb’s a much better bet if you have one.”

I nodded. “And if I wanted to retrieve something from Pylea?”

“You’d need to go to a psychic, track down an inter-dimensional hotspot.” Sam brightened. “A list of hotspots actually got compiled a while back, so I could just show you the list if you like. Then you’d just say the incantation which is in Pylean - it’s in one of the books, I’ll grab it in a minute - and then you’re through. The problem is getting back of course, since the incantation works differently over there, you’d need the correct formulae to figure out where to open the portal on the other side so you could get back.”

“What if I didn’t know about the formulae until I was already there?” I asked.

“Your best bet would be to look for any books written by the Covenant of Trombli, they’d probably have it.” Sam frowned. “But the books are written in Trionic, which is a bit of a pain to decipher.”

Alright. So, extensive arcane knowledge as well. Fine. “And what’s twenty-six multiplied by thirty-seven?” I joked.

“Can I use paper?” Sam asked nervously. “If not, it’s about nine-hundred and fifty.”

“I was joking.” I smiled, noting that she was barely out at all. I suppose all that was left to do now was test her research skills. See how quickly she could uncover something she’d have no way of knowing. “I’d like you to prepare a quick report for me on the process that a sorcerer would undergo to take on the form of an Old One. Take as much time you need, I’d like pretty intricate detail. Head out now, and knock on the door when you’re done.”

Sam frowned. “As soon as I know?”

“That’s right.” I smiled encouragingly. Sam nodded and slipped out of the room. That should hopefully give me some time to catch up on these folders, and I could see how well she handled-

There was a knock on the door. “Come in.” I called out.

Sam entered the room sheepishly. I blinked. “Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“No, I, umm, know the answer.” Sam smiled sheepishly. “I had to do some research on the Ascension process after Wilkins managed to pull one off. The Dedication which makes you invulnerable for one-hundred days before you ascend, eating the demons from the box of Gavrok… do you need me to explain all the rituals before that?”

“No, that’s quite alright.” I shook my head. There was no getting around it.

Sam was a genius. And she had no idea.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“This is unbelievable.” Angel tossed a file down onto the desk into the conference room, where it joined a small mountain range of similar discarded client files.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.” I shifted slightly on the chair, wiggling my toes and looking away from the file I was reading. I frowned. “Which is kind of a first.”

“Hmm, well this is interesting.” Lorne said from somewhere behind me. I couldn’t stomach many more ‘interesting’ things today. “Apparently old Joe Kennedy tried to get out of his deal with the firm.”

“That explains a lot.” Angel muttered darkly.

There was a tentative knock on Angel’s office door. “Come in!” I called out. 

A familiar blonde carrying a tray cluttered with various mugs advanced unsteadily into the room, eyes fixed on the tray determinedly. “Sam, perfect.” Wesley smiled from his seat. “Thank you for bringing those.”

“Oh, it’s my job.” Sam began slowly working her way around the table. I refocused on the file.

“Green tea?”

“Very funny Wes.” Lorne rolled his eyes. “Thanks, err… Sam?”

“That’s right! Umm, Otter blood for you, Mr Angel. One Mocha Cappuccino for Mr Gunn, tea for you of course, and…” I looked up to see Sam hovering above me, holding out a mug of coffee. “One cappuccino, three sugars, extra marshmallows.”

“Thanks.” I reached up to take the cup and sipped it. That was annoyingly tasty.

“And you mentioned you might want biscuits.” Sam said to Wesley, placing a tray of biscuits carefully on the table between him and me.

“Thank you.” Wesley sipped his tea, eyes fixed on the file. “Sam, how do you get it this good? Because, honestly, this is the best tea I’ve had in America that I haven’t made myself.”

“Oh, it’s simple really.” Sam smiled disarmingly. “The trick is to use a teapot! Y’know, I’ve always said there’s something about brewed tea that-”

“Cannot be replicated with a bag!” Wesley finished alongside her, grinning broadly. “My thoughts _exactly._” Wesley _had_ always said that.

Sam’s ears went slightly red. “So, err, what else do you need, Mr Wyndam-Pryce?”

“Wesley, please.” Wesley smiled absently. First-name basis with evil already. I felt my stomach twist: couldn’t Wesley see that this place was evil? And so was everyone here? Didn’t the client files we’d been reading prove that? She couldn’t be trusted.

“Right, sure. Umm… what else do you need Wesley?”

“Sam,” Wesley frowned. The nickname _again_. Why couldn’t she go by Samantha, was it so hard to live with two extra syllables? “You should honestly go home and get some sleep. How long have you been working?”

“Sixteen hours.” Sam rubbed her eyes. “But it’s fine, I napped.” Sam let out a loud, obviously fake yawn at the same time as her stomach rumbled gently.

Wesley frowned. “Do you want a biscuit?”

“Am I allowed any?” Sam looked hopeful.

“You brought them.” Wesley pointed out.

“Yeah but my old boss didn’t like me having biscuits on the job and this one time he threatened to uh…”

“Liquify you?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded sheepishly. Surely he could see it was an act, right?

“Sam, eat some biscuits.” Wesley chuckled.

“Thank you!” Sam grabbed a handful of biscuits and started eating them, leaning back on the table next to Wesley. “Are you sure you don’t need-” Sam yawned again. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 

“Sam, get some sleep.” Wesley smiled at her over his file. “Or you’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “I’ll be… umm… taking a power nap. If you need me, yell! Or maybe like, poke me or something depending on how deeply asleep I am…” She let out one last exaggerated yawn and walked out, rubbing her eyes.

“My deputy.” Wesley explained, perusing the documents in front of him. 

“She seems nice.” Lorne commented, drinking his tea. “She has a good vibe.”

“You know,” I put down my own file and looked around the table. “We're gonna have to check the whole staff, make sure we don't have any die-hard evildoers plotting against us. Starting with the most high-ranking people. They’re the ones most likely to be evil, and best-placed to sabotage us.”

“And here I was, worrying about the clients.” Wesley frowned, leaning back in his chair. Yes, Wesley, it was quite blatantly clear that you were _not_ worrying about the staff, unless you counted worrying about how they made such nice tea or that they weren’t sleeping enough.

“You can start checking them now, can’t you, Lorne?” I asked him. “We can pull in our direct subordinates, check them tonight so we know we can sleep soundly.”

“That makes sense.” Angel nodded. “Fred, Wes, chase up your deputies. Gunn, find the head of Legal. Lorne, get ready to do some reading.”

“So,” Wesley asked as we left the office. “How was your day at work?”

“My lab’s nice.” I mused. “I decorated my office. My deputy’s a bit miserable and probably slightly evil, but that’s Wolfram and Hart for you."  
“So it would seem.” Wesley nodded. “Need some company on the trip to Practical Science?”

“No.” I waved him off. “You find whatever sofa or carpet Sam’s curled up on and make sure she gets read immediately. The last thing I need is her ambushing me in one of these corridors and running me through with a spear.”

Wesley chuckled. “As long as you make sure Dr Sill isn’t venting poison gas throughout the building.”

“Will do.” I hesitated. I had a strange, nagging feeling that we shouldn’t split up. Which was ridiculous. I didn’t have to stick close to Wesley all the time. It wasn’t like something would happen. “See you soon!” I waved, and started looking for Dr Sill.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I slowly pushed open the door to my office, peering around the room. Sam was curled up on the sofa close to the door, head resting on one of the cushions. Her hair was spread across the sofa beneath her like a golden wave, her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her tiny form was curled in on itself like a cat’s. Her brow was slightly furrowed in her sleep, and she was snoring gently where she lay, chest rising and falling captivatingly as she breathed. She looked far too cute to be evil.

Still, had to be certain. No sense in not making sure. Even if it meant I had to wake her up when she looked so peaceful. It felt mean to wake her, especially when she’d been working so hard. I agonised for a few seconds, then sighed and moved to wake her. “Sam?” I said in a hushed tone. She murmured something unintelligible and shifted slightly. “Sam?” I tried slightly louder. No reaction.

I reached out to tap her shoulder. Still nothing. A deep sleeper then. I shook her shoulder gently and her eyes snapped open, lurching upright. “I’m sorry for napping!” She gasped, brushing hair out of her face.

“Sam, it’s me.” I smiled reassuringly. She sagged with relief. “And I told you to get some rest, so don’t worry.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Sam smiled sheepishly, running both hands through her luscious hair, presumably to untangle it. “What do you need?”

“Just come to Angel’s office quickly, there’s an administrative matter to take care of.” I began walking back there and she fell into step beside me.

“Do I have to sign in blood?” Sam asked nonchalantly. “HR used to need all the forms signed in blood, and in triplicate. That was terrible.”

“No, nothing like that.” I shook my head. “Just a quick test.”

“I didn’t study.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Is it maths, or verbal, or non-verbal? Am I graded, or is it just a pass-fail type thing where-”

“You don’t have to study.” I chuckled. She was so endearing. I really had to make sure she worried less. “Just sing.”  
“Sing?” Sam frowned.

“That’s right!” Fred called out from her seat by the conference room table, still covered in client files. “It’ll be over nice and quick, home in time for tea.”

“Oh, good.” Sam smiled, then paused. “I have to sing in front of people?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” I nodded. She went white as a sheet.

“Are you sure I can’t do something else?” Sam whispered imploringly. “Maybe write a poem or talk about one of my holidays?”

“It’s not show and tell.” I smiled. “You just need to sing a few bars, you’ll be fine. See, Dr Sill will be singing too.”

I nodded to a balding man with a magnificent white beard who looked extremely unhappy to be here. Standing next to him was a debonair gentleman in a sharply tailored suit who I assumed was the head of legal. Sam looked very unsure.

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Angel sighed, leaning back on the conference table next to where Lorne was standing. I walked over to sit next to Fred, who removed her feet from the chair next to her to accommodate me. I smiled gratefully. She frowned and turned away.

  
What had I done now?  


“Might as well get this over with.” Dr Sill - who had a thick German accent - said grumpily. He stepped forwards. “I’m a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle, here is my spout.” He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s enough.” Lorne nodded. “Next.”

“Well, I never like to be last to do anything.” Sam laughed nervously and stepped forwards, licking her lips. “Do I umm… have to do a nursery rhyme or-”

“Just sing the first thing that comes into your head.” Lorne smiled encouragingly.

Sam nodded and cleared her throat. 

“Oh Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking. But I sent you away ohhhh Mandy,” Sam looked at me nervously. I nodded encouragingly: she had a lovely singing voice. Clear and warm. “But I sent you away, oh Mandy. Well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking. And I need you today, oh Mandy…”

Sam stopped singing. “Can I… was that enough?”

“Yep.” Lorne nodded, smiling faintly and making the finger sign for okay.

“You like Barry Manilow?” Angel asked, grinning goofily. 

“Yeah,” Sam blushed, staring at her feet. “It’s a little embarrassing, but-”

“Nonsense, he’s great!” Angel nodded vigorously. “What’s your favourite? Besides Mandy?”

“Umm…” Sam rubbed the back of her neck, looking thoroughly confused. “Probably ‘Could it be magic now’?”

“Good choice.” Angel nodded. “Right. Umm. You’re done. Next!” The man I’d pegged as the head of legal sang next, un-inspiringly.

“Alright, would the three of you step outside for a moment?” Gunn escorted them out. “We’ll bring you right back in, just a few seconds.” He shut the door.

“What’s the diagnosis?” I turned to Lorne.

“Evil.” Lorne nodded.

“Knew it.” Fred muttered.

“Our friend Mr Regis was definitely evil.” Lorne continued. “Dr Sill and Miss Jennings read clean.”

“Oh.” Fred frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Dr Sill seemed grumpy, not evil.” I mused. “But I guess you’d know best, seeing as how he’s your staff.”

“Yes, Dr Sill.” Fred nodded. “That’s… who I meant.”

“Both the other two read squeaky clean.” Lorne shrugged. “Nothing to tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Has Regis killed anyone?” Angel folded his arms, looking at Lorne.

“Nope, just a slime-ball who’ll be plotting against us if we don’t fire him now.” Lorne sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m gonna have to read a lot of very unpleasant people, aren’t I?”

“Probably.” I admitted. 

“Right.” Angel sighed, running one hand through his hair. “I’ll deal with Regis, make sure he never comes back to the building. The rest of you, go home, get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Fred frowned at Angel. “You need rest too.”

“I’ll keep going a bit longer. Creature of the night and all, I’ll be fine.” Angel smiled unconvincingly.

I stood up and stretched, groaning. God, this had been a long day. “You know what the only thing worse than fighting Wolfram and Hart is?” I mused, turning to Fred. “Working for them. Longer hours, and you don’t get the satisfaction of knocking out the staff in the bargain.”

Fred giggled. “You’re right about that. I mean, I like my lab but it feels like I’m working awfully far away from you guys. Instead of my friends I’m surrounded by… probably evil lab techs and a confirmed non-evil but extremely grumpy deputy.” She smiled.

“Yes, you got rather unlucky on that front.” I shrugged into my jacket, glancing down to smooth it out as we neared the door to the office. “I’m still thanking my lucky stars for my deputy. Non-evil, non-grumpy and refreshingly competent. Not a bad mix.”

When I looked back at Fred, her smile was gone, replaced by a distinctly icy look. “Is something the matter?” I frowned.

“Oh, no. Everything’s _fine_.” Fred turned away from me as we left the office. I had the distinct sense things were not ‘fine’.

“Fred, did I say-”

“Wesley!” Sam materialised to the right of me as I left the office and I jerked away in shock. “Was he reading my mind?!”

“No, Lorne doesn’t do that.” I turned back towards Fred.

“Oh, that’s a relief.” Sam let out a breath. “Because I was really worried for a moment there that he’d just seen all my most private thoughts and memories which would have been pretty awful. What was happening?”

“Just one second.” I told Sam, running across the lobby to catch Fred outside the lifts. “Fred, did I say something?”

“No, you didn’t. I told you, everything’s fine.” Fred almost glared at me and I wilted. “I’m just gonna go grab my things from my office, then go home. You should do the same.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t really sure what to say. “Goodnight.”

“_Goodnight_.” Fred said cooly, and the lift doors closed.

I rubbed my forehead and groaned: what had I done this time? I shook my head and began walking back to my office. “Lorne reads your aura,” I explained to Sam as I began grabbing my belongings. “Your future. While you sing. Lets him identify people who are evil or deceitful, among other things.”

“Oh.” Sam blinked. “I passed, right?”

“Yes.” I chuckled. “With flying colours. Squeaky clean, and non-evil.”

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s referred to me as non-evil as a compliment.” Sam smiled slightly. “Anyway I’ll get going. You probably need to catch up to Dr Burkle, I’ve already put you behind-”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t delayed me.” I shook my head. “Please stop blaming yourself for things, Sam.”

“I’ll try.” Sam looked hesitant. “Are… you and Dr Burkle… an item? Because if you are and she’s cross then I can maybe provide some advice, y’know, As a woman… obviously.”

I shook my head, feeling a faint stab of pain and longing in my chest. “No, Fred and I… no. We’re not.”

Sam turned away, walking over to my desk. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly.

“Don’t be sorry.” I sighed. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

Sam turned around and examined me carefully, emerald eyes tracing my face carefully. “You… don’t look entirely up to driving.” Sam said hesitantly. “I mean… just a little tired, still really nice and all, just a little… beaten down.”

“You’re right.” I grimaced. “Not exactly keen to walk home either, at this hour.”

“I could call you a driver?” Sam offered. “We have those.”

“Oh. Please do.” I smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Sam leaned down to pick up the phone, then hesitated. She bit her lip and looked back up at me. “Umm… I was thinking of getting a car as well, and I’d really rather have some company, so would you like to share? I mean, if you can stand another second with me after having to deal with me all day already, you shouldn’t have to-”

“That sounds nice, Sam.” I cut her off gently.

Sam smiled gratefully, and picked up the phone. “Hi. It’s me. Yep. I need a driver to make two stops tonight. Stopping at…”

\+ + + + + + +

“Sam, how did you end up joining Wolfram and Hart?” I asked, glancing across the backseat.

Sam opened her eyes, straightening slightly. “Same way it goes for most people, I expect.” She shrugged. “They offered me a job, I said yes. Not all of us get offered ownership of the company.”

“Yes, that’s very true.” I paused. “But… you don’t seem like the kind of person who’d take a job offer from Wolfram and Hart. You’re not… evil enough.”

“You really paid attention in charm school, huh?” Sam grinned.

“I… oh… you know what I mean.” I shook my head.

“Yeah.” Sam drummed her fingers on the window idly. “I used to be an archaeologist. Studying ancient languages, tombs, that kind of thing. My expeditionary group were looking through a previously undiscovered tomb and well… undiscovered but not uninhabited.”

“A mummy?”

“A pretty vicious one.” Sam nodded, turning to look out the window. “I… I was the only one who got away. A couple of people died. Some of them it just captured and locked up. It wasn’t willing to follow me outside, that’s the only reason I made it. And I had no idea how to rescue them, how to help them…”

“And then, as if out of midair…” I guessed. “Somebody from Wolfram and Hart showed up to offer a hand.”

“A contract, actually.” Sam sighed. “I agreed to work for the firm, they made sure everyone got out of there.”

“You were headhunted.” It was sad. Someone like Sam, who seemed so nice, so sweet… trapped at Wolfram and Hart. Especially considering I gave it even odds some Wolfram and Hart executive set up Sam’s team to investigate that tomb in hopes of recruiting somebody useful. Maybe even targeting Sam specifically. Who knew with them?

“Pretty much.” She agreed. “Got assigned to the San Francisco branch of Wolfram and Hart… and the rest is history.”

“I hope it goes without saying.” I said softly. “That if you want to leave, go back to your life… we’re not going to stop you.”

“I know. Wolfram and Hart, under new management.” Sam smiled. “That’s kinda why I want to stick around. See what kinds of changes you make. You say you want to be a force for good and well… I can get behind that. Plus, you haven’t threatened to liquify me even once, so I’m already benefiting a lot from the new regime.”

“Well, at least we made one person better of by taking the deal.” I smiled ruefully.

“Hey, you stop that.” Sam frowned at me. “You’re a capable guy, you’ll turn things around in no time.”

The car slowed to a stop. “We’ll see, I suppose.” I looked outside. “I believe this is your stop.”

“I still think we should have gone to your place first.” Sam chewed her lip. “Not fair that the boss should have to wait longer than his assistant.”

“_Deputy._” I corrected, smiling. “And I wouldn’t dream of it, Sam.”

“Thanks.” She opened the door, put one foot out and hesitated. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Hopefully.” I shrugged, nodding to the driver. “Unless this fine gentleman assassinates me on the way home.” Sam giggled, waved, and gently closed the door. I watched her to make sure she got inside, then relaxed back in the seat and closed my eyes.

I was left with a pleasant optimism that this job might not turn out to be so bad after all.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“So, why choose Harmony to be Angel’s assistant?” Sam looked up from her position on one of the chairs along the back wall of my office. “If you don’t… mind my asking.”

“I don’t.” I kept my focus on the Fries case file, gradually becoming more disgusted. “One first edition book aside, she’s harmless. Especially for a vampire. Not cunning or driven enough to betray us. Plus, she’s a known factor. Better the incompetent I know than the unknown variable.”

Sam nodded, expression thoughtful. “Is that why you’ve kept me around? Better the devil you know than the… other thing.”

“I already know you’re not evil, Sam.” I shook my head. “You sang for Lorne, remember? Besides, you’re a dab hand when it comes to doing your job. And mine, for that matter.”

“So you keep saying.” Sam smiled indulgently. “What’s on the agenda for today then? What do you need me to do?”

“Damage control, mostly.” I sighed. “Trying to get my head around what the hell is going on in this place. Any thoughts?”

“Well, in terms of damage…” Sam frowned. “The Fries case is the disaster-of-the-week. Technically a legal matter rather than a research one, which means a few days ago we’d have been ordered to let them flounder but… I’m guessing that’s not our style anymore?”

“It’s not.” I frowned, tapping Fries’ photo. “But why on Earth would I want to help Fries? I’d sooner have him fed to weasels, he’s repulsive. Even for one of our clients.”

“That’s true.” Sam nodded. “But err… as far as hotheads go? He is one. When I was making tea this morning, I could hear him ranting from out in the atrium… threatening us if we didn’t make sure he was cleared.”

“Empty threats?” I asked.

“The distinctly overflowing kind of threat, I think.” Sam bit her lip and looked at me nervously. “I… I am of the opinion that Fries wouldn’t make an idle threat. He likes to bluster, sure, but he likes power over people… and an idle threat isn’t power. A real one is. That’s just my opinion though, I mean, I’m just a researcher…”

“What you are is intelligent.” I grimaced, reaching for the phone. “I think it best if I have a chat with him. Gauge the level of nuisance we’re dealing with.”

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

“Blow everybody up?” I said incredulously.

“He said drop the bomb, we don’t know what that means.” Angel grumbled, pacing.

“We very nearly found out.” Wesley murmured, stroking his chin.

“What, I’m not allowed to hit people?” Angel demanded, folding his arms and staring accusingly at Wesley.

“Not people capable of genocide.”

“Those are exactly the kinds of people I should be allowed to hit!” Angel shot back. He had a point.

“Hey, back to the here and now, chickadees.” Lorne snapped his fingers. "Where do we stand?”  
“We need to find out about this bomb and somehow disable it in case that jury comes in with a conviction.” Wesley summarised, and Angel nodded. “We think it may have some mystical element.”

  
Angel turned to look between all of us. “Fries said, ‘I say the magic word.’ He could mean exactly that.” Which would be melodramatic as well as horrifying. Not to mention horrifyingly melodramatic.

  
“Which is my department.” Wesley nodded. “We also think it probably isn't an explosive. This isn't the sort of man to risk his own life. So that could mean more magic—”

  
"Or it could be a virus, ebola kind of thing… or maybe something more airborne, but which Fries is immune to.” I mused. That would be custom work, difficult to pull off. But with a little magic in the mix…

  
“Right. The main thing is, any of this stuff could've come from right here.” Angel leaned forwards. "Keel, the lawyer, says he doesn't know anything, and I believe him.”

“Why?” I frowned: if there was one thing I’d learned in all this time, it was never to trust a lawyer from Wolfram and Hart. Or anybody who worked for Wolfram and Hart properly. Lawyers, scientists, researchers, deputies…

  
“He's terrified.” Angel sighed. “Which means he’s useless.”   
“It's going around.” Lorne muttered.  
“Fred, go through the lab records. See if Wolfram & Hart deals in viruses.” Wesley suggested. That made sense. I nodded. “Lorne, you're in the courtroom. Monitor the case. Let us know how it's going.” He strode out of the room.

“What are you gonna do?” I ran after him, clutching my folder to my chest. 

“Firstly, check our records. See if we ever did any mystical work for Fries.” Wesley slowed down to let me catch up. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll start looking for a way to identify the magical link between Fries and the bomb, see if we can trace one to the other…”

“So we can safely defuse it, makes sense.” I nodded. “I could use an extra pair of eyes in the lab, actually, somebody with an eye for mystical aspects of viruses… can you lend me a hand?”

Wesley hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I think so. I believe my department will be able to handle things up here. My end is a lot more routine than yours.”

“When isn’t it?” I grinned. 

Wesley chuckled ruefully as we walked towards the lifts. “I’m already glad I agreed to lend a hand.”

“Well, look on the bright side.” I elbowed him jokingly. “This is all for the greater evil!” This time he laughed properly.

Fourteen hours later, there was no laughter to be heard.

“You got anything, Fred?” Wesley blinked up at me from where he was sitting, propped up in a chair by the wall of my office.

“I'm not sure. We've isolated a few strains which Fries may have had access to…” I grimaced. “But we haven’t got antidotes for all of them, and even if we did we’d have a lot of trouble distributing it if the plague starts spreading.”

“Fries should be immune.” Wesley rubbed his forehead. “If we got a DNA sample, could we reverse engineer an antidote?”

“If we could get a DNA sample from Fries, we’d be in a position to just lock him up and gag him,” I scowled in frustration. “And even if I had a sample, do you have any idea how long it would take to identify the relevant antibodies?”

“No.” Wesley said softly, sighing. “I’m… sorry. This isn’t my game. I was much more comfortable with a microscope back at the hotel than a lab’s worth of equipment.”

I felt a pang of nostalgia for our battered old microscope and slides, stored carefully in a cupboard in the office. I felt a much more severe pang of nostalgia for when I got to work with my friends all day against the machinations of Wolfram and Hart, rather than for them.

“I’m sorry I snapped.” I said softly. “Just now and… also the other night. I’ve been on edge.”

“It’s this place.” Wesley looked around, expression grim. “It gets to you.”

“Yeah.” I groaned. “It’s just… I thought I knew _one_ new person in the lab here who might not be terrible, who might be able to help ease me in to running this place… and not only did he turn out to be evil, but the Partners liquified him. I’ve been left scrambling.”

“It doesn’t show.” Wesley reassured me. “You look very composed and commanding out there.”

I snorted. “You’re funny.”

Wesley chuckled. “You know in books, when the character throws their hands up and cries ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’?” I nodded. “I have quite the opposite problem. I’m surrounded by intelligent people who can’t seem to recognise their own competence.” I swear, if he mentioned her name _one_ more time I was going to gag him.

Wait a second. Wait one damn second. I’d thought about this… if we could get Fries here and gag him! Killing him might release the virus sure, but stopping him from talking? A little concoction I could come up with that would make him lose his voice, just for a while? It would buy us all the time we needed!

“Wesley,” I grinned, standing up. “I just had an-”

The door to my office burst open right beside me and I jerked back with a surprised yelp, head thudding into the wall. My vision went shaky and I groaned in pain, stumbling. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Two small hands came to rest under my armpits, holding me upright and a pair of green eyes swam into focus. Of course.

“Oww.” I groaned, leaning back and trying to stay upright. That hadn’t been what I wanted to say. “My head…” I’d wanted to lecture Sam about not barging into my office but… ouch. Blinding pain. Distracting pain.

“Do you need an aspirin?” I felt larger, warmer, infinitely preferable hands gently lead me over to my chair, easing my into a sitting position. Wesley looked very concerned. That was sweet. “Or some water, or…”

“Just… get Sam to explain why she gave me a concussion.” I grumbled, resting my head in my hands and trying to refocus myself. God, my head. I’d just had an idea, an important idea, a way to solve this mess, it had been on the tip of my tongue. “Go ahead.” I grumbled, gesturing vaguely in Sam’s direction. 

“I came up with a way to stop Fries!” Sam sounded excited. More than usual. Which was saying something. “We don’t need to cure the virus, or find the container. Not yet, anyway. We just need to keep Fries from talking.”

Hey!  


_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

“We just need to keep Fries from talking.” Sam bent to pick up the folder she’d dropped when she caught Fred and passed it over. I flipped it open. “It’s a medieval spell. Keeps an opponent from talking.” 

“Tongue-tying curse.” I murmured, scanning the text. Yes. Good. “Lasts for several hours… can be re-applied to the same target, but with diminishing effects…”

“So, not a permanent solve.” Sam smiled nervously. “But I was thinking, we get a mystic over to the Courthouse, they wait and see how it goes. They think Fries is about to drop the bomb, BOOM! Shut him up for a couple of hours, buy us some time to get his son in isolation, maybe start dissolving the container.”

“That’s… ingenious.” I shook my head. I couldn’t believe Fred and I hadn’t thought of this, out of the box solutions were usually our forte. “Don’t you think, Fred?” I turned to face her.

Fred looked especially grumpy, rubbing one side of her face. I imagine it must have hurt when she jumped back into the wall. Best to be on a combat footing at Wolfram and Hart, I suppose. Even if it did lead to little accidents. “It’s a bodge.” Fred muttered. “But it might be a useful one.”

“Agreed.” I nodded, stuffing the folder in my bag. “I’ll get to the courthouse right away, be in position to shut Fries down if it comes to it. Sam, get a team ready to start working on dissolving the container.”

“Sure thing, boss!” Sam saluted, smiling broadly.

I stopped walking halfway out the office and turned around. “Maybe make sure Fred gets an icepack as well.” I shot Fred a warm smile. Her mood seemed to have worsened significantly since a few minutes ago. I suppose a bump on the head did that to you. “And Sam… great job. Really, well done. If we survive this, I owe you a cup of tea.”

Sam’s face looked about ready to split in two as her smile widened. She tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears and looked at her feet, going slightly pink as I sprinted towards the exit. I had a trial to watch.

_ +_ _+_ _+_ _+_ _+_ _+_ _+_

**Fred**

This was unbelievable.

Unbelievable.

She’d _stolen_ my idea. I mean, not in the sense that she’d _taken_ it from me but… I’d been about to say it, and then she’d come in to steal my thunder and got me knocked into a wall for good measure! So she got the credit, and I got what was probably going to be a very nasty bump on the back of my head. And Wesley had _praised_ her for all of that. Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. She comes up with one mediocre stopgap measure, and suddenly she’s ingenious? Please.

As. If.

She was just some corporate stooge who’d had a lucky break, spotted one thing and had the good fortune to beat me to saying it _by cheating._ And she may have Wesley and Lorne fooled, but I was not buying her Little Miss Perfect act. Not one bit. She was a demon in human form, a master deceiver, a deadly adversary plotting our downfall, and I was going to be on the lookout from now on, oh yes, nothing she did was going to surprise _me_, not again.

I blinked one last time and focused my gaze on Sam, who was staring out into the lab after Wesley. She sighed and turned around to smile at me, eyes slightly vacant. “Isn’t he great?” Sam giggled, sighing again. “He’s so commanding and smart and handsome and sweet… don’t you think?”

“Who?” I frowned. That couldn’t be right. Surely she couldn’t think-

“Mr Wyndam-Pryce!” Sam whispered, as if he might still be listening. “He’s like, the smartest person I’ve ever met! And the nicest. And have you seen his eyes?” Sam closed her own eyes, sappy smile spreading over her face, a hint of pink showing in her cheeks.

I felt a sudden, alien, unusual urge to shove _her_ into the nearest wall. This… this evil witch had ulterior plans for Wesley! She was planning something evil! A ritual sacrifice or a demonic possession, or something! I had to keep an eye on her, watch closely, make sure she didn’t make any advances. Wesley was _my_ best friend and there was no way I was going to let some glamorous floozy work her mojo on him! No way! I had her game all figured out.

Although she _did_ have a point about Wesley’s eyes. “They’re very pretty.” I admitted.

“So soft…” Sam sighed, then started, opening her eyes, cheeks going bright red. “I mean… from a purely objective point of view, that is. I don’t… I mean… let me go grab you an ice pack!” I mean, who did she think she was fooling really? Everyone else - especially Wesley - would see what I saw soon enough. 

That she was _obviously_ evil. Completely. Irredeemably. That was why I disliked her. It was the onlyplausible - no, _possible_ \- explanation.


	2. New Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike's arrival throws a spanner in the works, Fred gives some advice, and Spike makes new friends.

**Wesley**

Spike was back. But incorporeal. Which was… unusual. Then again, everything about our new lives seemed to be. Turned to dust and ashes saving the world, then reassembled out of the amulet before our very eyes. The amulet I was trying to examine… and which was proving singularly unenlightening thus far.

“Honey of a story.” Lorne commented from behind me.

“Story?” I frowned, not looking away from the microscope.

“Yeah, the vampire slayer both men loved, both men lost! Oh, I could sell that to any studio in a heartbeat. I see Depp, and Bloom…” Lorne paused. “But then, I see them a lot. Sorry. Hazard of running the entertainment division. Gotta get out more.”

I looked away from the amulet in a desperate attempt to find something to distract myself from Lorne’s discussion of an idea to turn our lives into a marketable entertainment product. Gunn and Angel were sitting at one of the workstations, going over some documents. Fred was walking slowly clockwise around Spike, scanning him, lips pursed, her face set in that wonderfully attractive expression she wore whenever she was focusing intently on a problem. She seemed recovered from her bump to the head at least… although she’d seemed a bit chilly since. I suppose stabbing head-pains would make anyone a little grumpier. Although Fred did seem to be shifting moods a lot recently…

Regardless that brought me to Sam, who was standing near Fred and glancing between Spike, Fred, and me. Her face was also set in a thoughtful expression, and she was chewing on her lower lip. She caught me looking over at her and waved, smiling slightly. I smiled back warmly.

Sam flushed slightly, turning back to Spike. “Umm… Mr William?”

Angel snorted. “Just call me Spike.” Spike sighed. 

“Right.” Sam nodded. “Sorry, Mr Spike. Umm… I was just wondering… if you don’t mind my asking… in 1892 in Paris, did you really kill a Thesulac demon with a chandelier?”

Spike looked surprised, then grinned from ear-to-ear. “That I did. Crystal one. Looked like a million red rubies after the crystals broke off, flooding across the floor of the room.”

“Wow.” Sam smiled. “That… is so cool. Sorry if I annoyed you by asking, I just… it was always a rumour but I never knew…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Spike, far from annoyed, looked rather like a cat who’d got the cream. “You’re pretty well informed, aren’t you?”

“Oh. Pfft.” Sam waved one hand and shrugged modestly. “You’re famous! I’m sure… everybody knows that story…”

“I didn’t.” I offered.

“See, Percy over there didn’t.” Spike kept grinning. “What’s your name, pet?”

“Oh, I’m Samantha. Jennings.” Sam stuck out one hand. “People call me Sam.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sam.” Spike looked at her hand, smile fading.

Sam gasped and pulled her hand back, shaking her head. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Spike shrugged. “Still getting used to it myself. Besides, you seem a nice enough girl. Sure you didn’t mean it.” Sam smiled gratefully.

“Yeah, well,” Angel looked up to glare at Spike, before looking to Sam. “I killed a Thesulac demon with a power cable. Less flashy, more efficient. Less risk of damage to other people.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded, frowning. “That’s… nice?”

“Not as cool as dropping a chandelier on it though, right?” Spike smirked at Angel. “Way less cool.”

“Oh, well you know who is cool?” Angel glared at Spike, folding his arms, then enunciated clearly. “Barry Manilow! Sam likes him too!”

“Umm…” Sam looked confused. Oh God, were these two going to keep bickering?

“Oh, say it ain’t so, pet!” Spike looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “We were just starting to bond, and he tells me you like Barry Manilow? You’re breaking my heart, Sam. Tell me he’s lying!”

“Umm…” Sam began walking backwards away from both of them, glancing around for something to hide behind.

“Tell Spike the truth, Sam.” Angel said, not looking away from Spike. “Go ahead.”

“I… err…” Sam cast around desperately, emerald eyes settling on me. “Wesley, help?”

“Leave Sam alone, you two.” I looked over at Angel meaningfully. "If you want to bicker, just get on with it, don’t use Sam as a battleground.”

“He started it!” Angel whined, pointing at Spike. “Sam, tell Wesley Spike started it!”

“That’s bollocks.” Spike growled, jabbing a finger at Angel. “Sam, set the record straight.”

Sam swallowed and - wisely - chose not to respond, backing away from them until I was between her and them. I chuckled, shooting her a sympathetic smile before returning to the microscope.

“So what are you, then?” Spike presumably looked at Fred. “Scanner girl?”

“I’m Fred.” Fred explained. “I head up Wolfram and Hart’s science department.”

“She’s a genius!” Sam exclaimed from behind me. “You have no idea. I mean she’s… wow. She heads up this whole lab, and she’s probably one of the smartest people you’ve ever met! Modest too, so she’d never admit it.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, Sam.” Fred responded evenly. The scanner beeped. “This is weird. I’m getting electromagnetic readings consistent with spiritual entities, but there's no ectoplasmic matrix.” Interesting.

“Meaning?” Gunn asked.  
“Ectoplasm is what makes ghosts visible to the human eye.” Sam explained tentatively. “If Spike is a ghost then without ectoplasm… well we shouldn’t be able to see him. Theoretically. Right?” Sam turned to Fred, tilting her head.

“That’s right.” Fred frowned very slightly, putting down the scanner. “He’s an impossibility. Or at least an improbability. He’s also radiating heat, which ghosts usually absorb…”

“Think I’m hot, do ya?” Spike smirked weakly. I did my best not to snort. Sam giggled quietly from beside me. I doubt anyone else heard. Or saw the small smile tug at the corner of my lips in response. Such an adorable laugh. I’d have to do my best to make Sam laugh more often.

“More like lukewarm.” Fred mused. “Just above room temperature.”

“What the hell am I, then?” Spike demanded.

“You’re tied to this amulet.” I continued to examine it. “Your essence, for want of a better term, was held within it.”

“Demonic entities are often stored in receptacles.” Sam put in. “Could be that when it let the energy out… something else had to go in. And Spike was the only thing around.”

“Flattering.” Spike said dryly.

“Do you have any memory of a strange sensation when the energy was released?” I stood up and turned to Spike, frowning thoughtfully.

“What? You mean my skin and muscle burning away from the bone? Organs exploding in my chest? Eyeballs melting in their sockets?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “No. No memory at all. Thanks for asking.” God, he was insufferable.

“OK, he's connected to the amulet. Last I heard it was buried deep inside of the Hellmouth. How did it end up here?” Angel leaned on the desk, looking between Fred and me. I had nothing.

Fred, fortunately and as usual, had thought of something. “Maybe he's here for a reason. You know, some higher purpose or something he's destined for.” That would be nice. Something positive and beneficial. “Sent to us by the powers that be to help us or- Spike!”

“Hmm?” Spike looked at Fred. Then he looked down at himself. He’d become translucent. “Oh, balls.”

Spike vanished.

“Fred?” I frowned over at her. “Any ideas?”

“Umm…” Fred walked over to where he was and lifted up the scanner again, scanning Spike’s last location. “Nothing right now.”

“Spike’s radiating heat.” Sam mused. “Most ghosts absorb heat and light from the ambient area to sustain and charge themselves. But if Spike is throwing out heat, then it stands to reason that energy is coming from somewhere, a source. The same source that must be making him visible. It’s possible he’s… run down his batteries and needs some time to recharge?”

“That fits, I suppose.” I mused. “But what energy source would he have? Not the amulet. There were no energy readings coming off it earlier.” I checked again. “Or now.”

“In terms of an energy source…” Angel said slowly, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you thinking something like a… a soul, maybe? Would that work?”

“No, that wouldn’t work.” Fred shook her head. “Human ghosts have souls.” Well, that wasn’t technically right. Ghosts were-

“Umm… that isn’t… exactly true… technically speaking.” Sam said slowly, looking at the counter and fiddling with the ends of her hair. She glanced at me. I nodded, indicating she should keep going. Sam straightened up and continued. “Ghosts aren’t the actual person that died, per se. They’re more like… an imprint, left behind on the world. The soul is gone, moved on to the afterlife. But there’s an imprint left behind. A fragment, kinda. But no soul. So… yeah, a soul would work. But Spike doesn’t have one of those… being a vampire. Right?”

“Yeah, right?” Gunn turned to Angel and folded his arms. I raised an eyebrow. Fred frowned at Sam, then turned that frown on Angel, its magnitude increasing a thousandfold as she did. I suppose Fred had never liked being kept in the dark…

Angel folded his arms sheepishly. “I mean… speaking _technically_, Spike does, I suppose… have a soul. Not a very good one, but it’s there. Supposedly.”

“Excuse me?” Fred looked cross. “You knew Spike had a soul and you didn’t tell us?”

“It wasn’t relevant.” Angel shrugged, backing up slightly.

“No, it absolutely was relevant.” I frowned. “As we… just determined. That’s why you told us.”

“I mean… yes.” Angel hesitated. “But-”

I heard a yelp from behind me and spun around to see Sam stumbling back against the counter, eyes wide. It looked as though Spike had rematerialised right in front of her. “How do you like them apples…” I could have sworn I heard someone mutter behind me. I must have misheard, nobody would…

“Hmm?” Spike glanced around at us. “What? What?”

“Took the ‘whats’ right out of our mouths.” Lorne muttered.

“Where’d you go?” Gunn asked. Spike hesitated.

“Do you not know?” Fred frowned, looking concerned. Spike didn’t answer.

“Are… are you okay?” Sam asked quietly, standing back up and dusting herself off. “Are you… feeling alright?”

“Non-physical.” Spike frowned. “Which is weird. But not in pain or anything… Thanks.”

“Spike, do you have a soul?” I asked.

“Of course I bloody have a soul.” Spike looked relieved at the excuse to vent, turning away from Sam to face me again. Then he turned to Angel and smirked a glorious smirk. “You never said.”

“It wasn’t-”

“Don’t tell me Captain Forehead was feeling a little less special.” Spike grinned cockily, advancing forwards. “Didn’t like me crashing his exclusive club? Another vampire with a soul in the world?”

“You’re not in the world.” Angel said calmly. “Casper.” Angel turned and walked out.

Spike glowered and marched after him. “I got a meeting with Angel and a demon clan in five minutes. Gotta dash.” Gunn nodded politely and stood up, snapping his briefcase closed and making for the exit.

“And I have to try to convince some network execs to cancel a successful show which has been infiltrated by demons and is secretly being used for recruitment purposes.” Lorne sighed. “Catch you later, brainiacs.”

In the space of perhaps thirty seconds, it was just Fred, Sam, and I left in the lab. Along with Fred’s myriad lab staff, I suppose. “We should keep investigating Spike.” Fred switched off the scanner, striding straight over to me, standing up to her full height.

“Agreed.” I nodded, rising to my feet. “There’s no sign of any energy or other readings coming off the amulet but-”

“But those look like Dimethium symbols on the exterior,” Sam continued, peering closely at the amulet. “Which are well within our abilities to translate. The only problem is that when two people work on a translation together-”

“They tend to compromise the work by exaggerating each other’s biases and imposing their assumptions on each other, preventing mistakes from being uncovered that would have been by two independent pieces of work.” I finished. Sam nodded vigorously, smiling and flushing slightly. I had no idea why she was flushing, she’d been completely right.

“So you two are going to work on the translation separately then?” Fred smiled ever so slightly. She was probably pleased we’d reached agreement so quickly. “As in, separate pieces of work, and rooms?”

“It’s the safest way to go.” I nodded.

“Minimises risk of mistakes.” Sam agreed. “We can meet once each of us has done a little more than half, say sixty percent, so we can compare properly and build a more complete picture of-”

_“Fantastic.”_ Fred cut her off, raising an eyebrow. “Sam, why don’t you try your luck with the microscope for a few moments-” I felt a soft pang of hurt at Fred’s veiled lack of confidence in my skills.

“-while Wes and I head upstairs to continue the analysis, sound good?” Fred looked at me. Her eyes were _remarkably_ intense and focused.

“Ah,” I blinked several times, forcing myself to look away. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay here, so that we can more easily draw upon the lab’s-”

“Nonsense, separate translation work, separate rooms, that’s the way to do it, you already said, hurry up Wesley, out of the lab, time’s-a-wastin’!” Fred began ushering me out. She was certainly… enthusiastic about Spike’s case.

“I’ll catch up with you soon!” I called to Sam, waving goodbye. “Find me upstairs when you’re ready!”

“You got it!” Sam beamed, waving back. “Good luck with the research!”

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

She was _insufferable!_ I had no idea how Wesley managed to stand having her around all day!Little Miss ‘Well, technically, ghosts don’t have souls Fred’ thought she was _soooo_ clever she decided to give me a lecture, right in front of everyone! Just because I wasn’t an expert on the occult like Wesley was! Wesley wouldn’t have lectured all of us, he’d have clearly explained why it was ghosts didn’t have souls without trying to make me feel like an idiot in the process!

Which she hadn’t managed to do. Definitely not. She had _not_ made me feel like a fool, no sir. Despite her best efforts. And she was still playing up the sweet and innocent act! Nervously backing away from Angel and Spike, asking Wesley for help like she wasn’t capable of debating with the best of Wolfram and Hart’s evil lawyers. Even _Spike_ apparently had a soft spot for her, and he’d only known her a handful of minutes! Just because she’d buttered him up by conveniently asking him a story about something he’d love to brag about. Could she be any more transparent?

“Fred?” 

“Hmm?” I looked up, refocusing. Wesley. “What is it, Wes?”

“Your pencil…” 

I glanced down. The point appeared to have snapped off. How had that happened? “Oh, thanks.” I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Let me grab another.”

“Made any progress yet?” Wesley turned his own attention back to the books and papers strewn across his end of the conference room table, where he was trying to translate the inscription on the amulet. “I haven’t. Nothing beyond the fact that it has purifying powers, and seems invulnerable. I’m translating the symbols, but I’m barely half done.”

“Nothing yet.” I sighed, shuffling the pages of scanner readouts and spreadsheets into a more manageable pile. “The amulet doesn’t seem to be releasing any power, like you said.”

  
“Which supports Sam’s theory that his soul is sustaining Spike.” Wesley smiled faintly. “Which seems poetic, in a way.”

“I suppose it does. And it is.” I said shortly.

Wesley frowned, setting down his own pencil. “Fred… has Sam done something to you?”

Oh, no. I was not letting her get to me. Not one little bit. “No. Not exactly.” I sighed, turning to focus on Wesley fully. “It’s just… we have to stay on our guard here. Always. We can’t trust anyone.”

“I would agree.” Wesley nodded. “But if we’re at the point where somebody has sung for Lorne and he’s given them a ringing endorsement - and a nickname - then we’re rather past the point we need to be worried about them, correct?”

“This is exactly the problem.” I shook my head. “Look… it doesn’t matter whether Sam can be trusted or not. What matters is that we can’t trust _Wolfram and Hart._ And trusting her, or anyone else here… it’s a slippery slope from that, to trusting the system. And if we trust the system… the Partners will eat us for breakfast.” I couldn’t tell him my suspicions about Sam outright, he wouldn’t believe me. Not until I had proof Sam was evil.

“That’s fair.” Wesley looked relieved. “That’s a relief.”

“What do you mean?” I smiled. His smile was infectious. He should do it more often.

“I was starting to think Sam had done something to compromise your working relationship.” Wesley grinned. “But if it’s just Wolfram and Hart in general you object to, that’s fine. That makes a lot more sense than one of you having a problem with the other.” Wesley chuckled.

“What do you mean?” I frowned. How could anyone sane and perfectly logical _not _have a problem with Sam? She was… she was just the _worst_.

“Well,” Wesley smiled, looking like he was searching for words. He did have very pretty eyes… “It just seems to me like you two are-”

I heard a timid-sounding knock on the door behind me. Wesley stopped talking. I smiled apologetically. “That’s probably Sill with the most recent lab update… you don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all.” Wesley smiled.

“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully and stood up, stretching as I walked over to the door. I opened it, unable to suppress a yawn as I did so. I was so tired. Still, it was only Sill seeing me. He wouldn’t care.

I blinked my eyes open and closed my mouth. Not Sill. It was Sam. _Of course_ it was Sam, standing there oh-so-innocently, clutching a slim folder. How was she already done with her half of the work, I thought we’d be free of her toxic presence for at least another half hour. She must have cheated somehow. That was how she’d done it so fast. She’d probably been in on the plan to turn Spike to dust this entire time, had probably picked out the amulet herself as part of Research and Intelligence (or even enchanted it herself, foul witch) so of course she’d already know what the symbols translated to. Probably laughing behind our backs at us this whole time. Utterly despicable. _Fiend_.

She shot me a nervous-and-obviously-fake smile. “Good evening, Dr Burkle! I have my half of the translation of the symbols on the amulet?”

“Ah, Sam!” I heard Wesley say from behind me. He had the nerve to sound _pleased._ “Perfect. Please, bring it here.”  
  
Sam shot me a smile that was trying to be sincere and nice but _oozed_ smugness. How did anyone put up with her? She eyed the doorway I was still occupying hesitantly. Probably wondering if she could get away with barging past me. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking me to move. I gave her a smile as obviously fake as all of hers, and returned to my seat at the table. 

Sam walked over to the table and put down her tiny folder next to Wesley’s plethora of notes. He flipped it open and started reading, while she dashed out of the room. How unsurprising, she hadn’t said goodbye. Typical rudeness. Still, at least she was gone.

“Here’s your coffee, Dr Burkle.” A cup was carefully deposited in front of me and I looked over my shoulder to see Sam beaming at me. How was she so smug? I was not going to let her get to me.

“Thank you, Miss Jennings.” I forced a smile. I could play the insincerity game too. I just… wasn’t very good at it.

“And… here we go.” I flicked my eyes over to see Sam depositing an actual _teapot_ on the table, along with a tray carrying a little jar of milk, a bowl of sugar and… mugs. Two of them. Surely she wasn’t going to try to force her way into our research session? That did _not_ happen. Wesley and I researched things _together_, we didn’t invite random evil-doers to third wheel!

“Translation looks good.” Wesley nodded, oblivious to Sam’s machinations. “Unsurprisingly.”

“Really?” Sam smiled widely. “Thanks! I… umm… would you like me to pour you some tea?”

“On no account.” Wesley set down the folder. Ha! That was her told! Any second now Wesley was going to tell her to go do some real work and stop bothering us.

Or, I suppose, he could reach out and _start pouring her tea for her._ That was something he could technically do. And was doing. “It’s three sugars, is that right?”

“Yes please.” Sam fiddled with one strand of hair irritatingly. “I know it’s sinful, I just like my tea sweet…”

“Perfectly understandable.” Wesley chuckled good-naturedly, dropping in some sugar cubes. “Fred has four sugars in her tea.”

“Clearly it’s a Texas thing.” Sam smiled faux nervously at me.

“No, not really.” I replied casually, looking through my own research. “My Ma preferred one or two sugars. Were your parents sugar-lovers?” And how evil were Sam’s parents, I wonder? What awful, spiteful people could have raised the manipulative, duplicitous, consummate liar who sat before me?

“I… umm… never knew them.” Sam stared at her tea. I blinked. Sam flashed me a genuinely shaky smile. “Don’t umm… worry about it. It was a long time ago, obviously.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sam.” Wesley said softly.

“Oh, it was fine. I was fine.” Sam shrugged. “I mean, the orphanage I went to was real nice. Plenty of friendly kids mixed in with the bullies.”

There was a brief pause. “You were bullied?” Wesley said softly, voice dangerous.

“Not as much as some.” Sam protested. “I mean… more than most. I had these… silly little pigtails… and I read a lot… and I was a total goody-two-shoes…”

“That is no excuse.” Wesley murmured, and his voice held all the power of a thunderstorm. I frowned: surely he wasn’t falling for this emotional manipulation hook, line, and sinker? I mean… being in an orphanage would be terrible but… she was clearly playing it up to win sympathy points. I tried to keep from raising both my eyebrows in disbelief as Wesley moved one hand over to rest on top of hers. Sam went bright pink, eyes fixed on Wesley. “I am so, so, sorry.”

Sam leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “Did you kill my parents?” She smiled weakly.

“No.” Wesley said, voice soft. Warm. Radiating kindness.

“Then it isn’t your fault.” Sam shrugged. “Not even a little bit.”

There was a pregnant pause. I coughed. Sam jolted round to face me, cheeks burning. And well they should be, after that shameless display. Did she have no common decency? Using her - admittedly unfortunate - upbringing as an excuse to practically throw herself at Wesley? 

“So… let’s put together these pieces of the translation, shall we?” Wesley suggested, apparently oblivious to Sam’s designs. 

“Yes, let’s.” Sam sipped her tea, smiling in a way that was decidedly _flirtatious_ (I felt my blood practically began to _boil_ at the sight, did she have no shame? Evil temptress!) scooting her chair closer to Wesley. “That’s really nice. Thanks.”

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

“That’s really nice. Thanks.” Sam smiled at me. She really did have a lovely smile. Those sparkling green eyes, her bow-shaped pink lips, the tiny pink flush in her cheeks, her adorable little nose, the hint of those bright white teeth…

“Think nothing of it, I’m still several cups of tea behind.” I responded, moving her pieces of the translation into line with mine. “So the symbols don’t move clockwise, anti-clockwise or even sequentially… but this section I did seems to line up with your work here…” I blinked and smiled.

“What is it?” Sam pulled her chair in slightly closer. “Did I make a funny mistake?”

“No, it’s… the way you write that particular symbol… it’s quite unique. You do this part here as a very slight parabola rather than a straight line.”

“It’s because of the way I learned to write this alphabet.” Sam went bright pink. “I can… I can change it if you want, I don’t mind, I-”

“Why did you learn to write it like that?” I raised an eyebrow.

Sam mumbled something unintelligible. “Hmm?” I asked.

Sam spoke so quietly I had to strain my ears to hear. “This way it looks like a little snowman and that’s how I taught myself to remember that symbol…” I blinked. Then I burst out laughing. 

“Of course, of course.” I shook my head. “Because the translation literally means-”

“Eyes of stone!” Sam nodded. “And snowmen have eyes of stone and the symbol looked kinda like a snowman, but when you draw it with the little parabola…”

“Snowman head.” I chuckled. “You’re a gift, Sam.”

“Thank you.” Sam stammered, looking at the table. “That’s very sweet and _unexpected_ and completely not true, but thank you for saying it because it was nice and… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I held up one sheet, frowning. I’d slightly lost my train of thought. “Where do you think this goes?”

“I think it goes…” Sam leaned over my shoulder and I felt her hair - I’d had no idea it was so remarkably soft and fine - brush over my shoulder and against my cheek, before a few stray strands settled on my chest. Fred made a strangled noise from the other side of the table and I glanced at her: had she choked on a biscuit?

Hurriedly, Fred averted her gaze from something behind me. I frowned and turned around, accidentally getting a faceful of Sam’s golden-brown hair - which smelled remarkable, what was that, apricot? Strawberry? It smelled incredible regardless - as I did so. There was nothing behind me except Sam. Curious. I shrugged and turned back around. Sam had put the sheet down and was looking at me hesitantly. “Is that…”

“Looks good.” I nodded, frowning at the next sheet. I was having similar problems placing this one… “Sam, would you do the next couple? I’ve got out of the rhythm of it.”

“Oh, sure!” Sam stood up to better position herself, leaning more fully over my shoulders to move papers around more effectively, pressing up against my back once or twice in the process. She was putting out a remarkable amount of body heat… I suppose that was in line with my earlier discovery that she had exceptionally warm - not to mention soft - hands.

In what seemed like no time at all, she was done. “Thank you.” I smiled gratefully at Sam. She smiled shyly back. Hopefully her doing tasks like this would help build up her confidence, since I wouldn’t constantly be lambasting her for mistakes she hadn’t even made to protect my own ego and position, as Sirk had done.

I turned my attention to the newly arranged sheets, beginning to try to structure the overall inscription. Sam hopped up to sit on the table next to my chair, presumably to better access the sheets, crossing her legs as she did so. Those wonderfully slender legs - how had I never noticed them before? - which looked so perfectly smooth and—

God, I was clearly much too tired. I heard a spluttering noise and glanced over to see Fred choking, coffee staining some of the sheets in front of her. “Are you alright?” I made to stand up but Fred waved me off, coughing viciously and beginning to move the sheets out of the way of the spreading coffee.

“I am so sorry!” Sam gasped, both hands going to her mouth. “Did I make your coffee wrong? Does it taste awful? Let me just help you with-”

“I’m fine!” Fred stood up abruptly, clearly flustered by the spillage (I had no idea why, there was no shame in knocking over a drink), glaring between me and Sam. “Let me just go and… I’ll be better off working somewhere else anyway. Find me if you work anything out.” She stormed out of the room, sheets clutched in one hand, slamming the door shut behind her.

I groaned, resting my head on the table. What had I done to annoy Fred now? We’d been having a nice chat until I started finishing up the translation and now apparently I’d irritated her to the point where she’d left the room.

“I guess that coffee was really bad.” Sam said quietly.

“No, Sam.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I… I must have done something to aggravate Fred.”  
“Are you sure?” Sam frowned. “Because I kinda feel like it might have something to with m-”

“Entirely sure.” I sighed. “When it comes to Fred… I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.”

I felt a pang in my stomach for the old days. When Fred and I had been able to just relax together as friends, work amicably as colleagues, share smiles and converse and… when I could be around her without making a total idiot of myself, making her uncomfortable with the way I felt about her and angering her on a more-than-daily basis. At this rate, Fred was going to end up killing me in my sleep.

  
“Trust me Sam, this has _nothing _to do with you.”

“Alright.” Sam smiled shakily. “I guess you know her best.” She hopped back on to the table and leaned over, hair shimmering as it caught the dim light. “Where were we?” She smiled dazzlingly.

“Err…” I think her eyes might be the purest shade of green I’d ever seen. So bright and shining and yet… somehow warm and soft along with it, a hint of excitement and curiosity burning within them. 

I’d lost my train of thought again. That seemed to be happening quite frequently at the moment. For some unfathomable reason.

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

She really was shameless! Pouring herself all over him like that! Throwing her hair into his face, practically doing the same thing with her - admittedly very shapely - legs, pressing herself up against his back under the guise of doing work. She was an utter _harpy!_ I hadn’t been able to contain my disbelieving splutters and had almost ended up choking on my coffee. And she’d done that coming right off her awfully convenient sob story. Who did she think she was, flirting so blatantly at Wesley? He was her boss, it was _completely inappropriate! _

Thankfully, Wesley had calmly and politely ignored all her advances. But he hadn’t reprimanded her for them either. So she was probably going to try again. Sooner rather than later, if what I’d seen of her so far was any indication. What a piece of work! Manipulative, evil, piece of-

“Fred!” 

“Huh?” I blinked, looking up at Angel. “Sorry, what did I miss?”

“I was asking you about my spiritual crisis.” Angel said meaningfully. Angel was having a spiritual crisis? That was fast. I really wasn’t the person to ask, I’d always been terrible with this soft of thing, he should really go to- “Spike!”

“_Oh_, right. Well.” I stood up straight. “As best as I could tell from my very _productive, solo_ research session, Spike can’t get out of here.” The attraction between Spike and the amulet was too strong to ever be overcome. As was the amulet’s attraction to Wolfram and Hart.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Angel pleaded.

“Okay.” I nodded and turned to Wesley. “Wes, you tell him.” I was unable to suppress a frown. That wasn’t… that wasn’t lipstick on his cheek, was it? Surely it wasn’t. It must be some other pink thing that had made an imprint on his skin in an infuriatingly familiar, slightly bow-shaped pattern. Not that I cared. I didn’t care that there was - _might be, might be_ \- lipstick on Wesley’s face because it wasn’t like Wesley wasn’t allowed to date people, he was single and…

That had better not be Sam’s lipstick or I was going to have to teach her a lesson about appropriate employee conduct. Maybe with my fists. I was not letting that evil witch get her talons into my… I mean… get her talons into Wesley. Because Wesley wasn’t mine, except in the sense that we were best friends, I was just watching out for him, and _dammit was that lipstick on his face, and where the hell had it come from, and was it Sam?_

“Sam and I have been doing some extensive research on the amulet.” Sam! Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, was that the only word he could say? I mean of course he could say other words but-

She wasn’t getting to me. I calmly walked in front of Wesley and sat down leisurely on the arm of the chair in front of him, stretching my stiff legs slightly before crossing them. I smoothed down my skirt and ran both hands through my hair, which felt a little tangled. I glared at that stubborn smudge of pink on Wesley’s cheek, willing it to evaporate. Ideally along with the person who put it there.

If that person was Sam. If it was anyone else I wouldn’t care. Obviously. Why would I care? Not that I cared that it was Sam, it was just because Sam was evil and obviously taking advantage of Wesley’s trusting nature. And leaving lipstick on his cheek. That evil, good-for-nothing, witch!

“There’s no way to release Spike from it. Not in the conventional sense.” Wesley shifted uncomfortably, turning to look at me. “Fred, do I have something on my-”

“Yes!” I stood up and rubbed at the mark vigorously with my fingertips. Wesley yelped and stepped back, rubbing his - mercifully clean - cheek. “There we go. Much better.” I sat down and turned to face Angel, feeling zen again. Lorne snorted from somewhere behind me. I wonder what was so funny?

“What about the unconventional sense?” Angel frowned.

“If we destroyed the amulet, we could give Spike what he asked for.” Wesley rubbed his slightly red cheek peevishly. “Eternal rest.”

“Well.” Angel leaned forwards in his chair. “It certainly is an unusual situation, but clearly this is our best choice. How do we do it?”

“It’s the same as any haunting…” Wesley said hesitantly. “An exorcism of sorts?”

“Isn’t Sam basically proposing killing him?” I queried. “That doesn’t seem right, does it? Murdering a selfless vampire who saved the world. In fact it sounds downright malevolent, if you ask me. Getting rid of him forever. Completely heartless, as a matter of fact.”

“It was my suggestion…” Wesley mumbled. I felt a pang of sympathy: poor Wesley. Sam had tricked him into proposing that somehow, left a trail of breadcrumbs with her translation. This had her foul, manipulative stench all over it. “And leaving him here trapped between realms, no control over his destiny… seems crueller. Letting him pass on as he was meant to seems more merciful.”

“Exactly, it’s merciful!” Angel nodded eagerly. “Just, hey, tell me and I’ll get mercy-ing.”

“The amulet’s protected, invulnerable to anything.” Wesley paused. “But the magic that’s protecting it doesn’t work on hallowed ground.”

“Did the little snowman tell you that?” I asked innocently. Wesley coloured slightly. How was it not completely obvious to him that things like that were made up to make her seem cuter and more human, affectations to hide her true soulless nature?

“Hallowed… so a church?” Charles questioned.

“Or a cemetery, yes. It has to be taken there and destroyed.” He frowned. “Shouldn’t be hard. One sharp blow should do the trick.”

“I think I want to sleep on this.” Angel sighed.

I walked forward and carefully put the amulet down on Angel’s desk, then turned around and followed Wesley out of the room. 

“You look much better without that gunk on your cheek.” I nodded approvingly. “How did that even happen?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, err. After you… departed,” Wesley said hesitantly. “And we finished researching, I went back to my office, unaware Sam had taken it upon herself to clean the coffee stains off the table, chair and carpet. I happened upon her doing so and finished the job up for her. And she… well, she was glad I’d helped out and she… kissed me on the cheek when she said thank you. And then Angel was asking for all of us, and I didn’t have time to wash up. Didn’t even realise it was there. She’s just a quite affectionate person by nature, I think.” Affectionate my ass, she was a _harpy_.  


“So, what?” I frowned, folding my arms. “She just walked up to you and kissed you on the cheek?”  
Wesley looked like a rabbit in the headlights. Which was ridiculous. I wasn’t interrogating him or anything, he wasn’t on trial even in the slightest, I just needed to know how far over the line Sam had stepped. “Pretty much, yes.”

“What, like this?” I stepped forwards and stood on tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to one cheek - fighting off an entirely irrational shudder at the sensation of his stubble tickling my jaw - then stepped back. I raised an eyebrow.

Wesley blinked. “Umm…”

“It’s a simple question, Wesley.” I huffed impatiently.

“Yes?” He said hesitantly. I raised an eyebrow. “Yes.” He said, with more conviction.

“Well, that’s just completely inappropriate.” I frowned. “I mean even if you were coworkers that would be totally unacceptable, but you’re her boss and she just… you agree with me, right?”

“Yes.” Wesley nodded. “Yes. Of course. Umm. Yes. Precisely.”

“Are you gonna talk to her about it?” I re-folded my arms. He had to be perfectly clear with her. Make it absolutely unambiguous that he wouldn’t be standing for her shameless behaviour any longer.

“Yes.” Wesley swallowed.

“Good.” I smiled warmly. “Just remind her that we’re all here to do our jobs, and there’s no room for office romances. Ever. Under any circumstances. Whatsoever. Clear?” Nothing short of that would be a clear enough message for Sam to stay away from my best friend! I was doing him a favour, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Clear.” Wesley said quietly.

“Great.” I grinned. “See you in the morning!” I hummed happily as I walked into the elevator. That should take care of the Sam problem nicely. As the doors began to close I waved goodbye to Wesley. He waved back halfheartedly, one hand coming up to slowly rub one cheek. I frowned as the doors closed fully.

Why did Wesley look so sad?

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

I sank back into my chair and rested my head in my hands. I wagered I could still feel the sensation of Fred’s impossibly soft lips against my cheek, the heat of her breath as she pulled away, the sight of her standing on tiptoes to _kiss_ _my cheek._

And it had meant nothing. Fred had been entirely clear on that. No room for office romances. Ever. Under any circumstances. That was what she’d said. I felt like there was an awful, yawning pit in my stomach because a part of me - a very large part - had still, against all the evidence, still hoped… hoped that Fred and I might one day be together. But everything that had happened thus far served to invalidate that hope. How I couldn’t seem to spend more than a few minutes around Fred without driving her off or angering her somehow, her complete unwillingness to allow me to do anything nice for her… and now this.

A carefully thought out, well delivered little speech, reminding me ever so delicately, ever so gently, that there was never going to be anything between us.

I was crying. Quietly. Weakly. It was ridiculous of me to sit here, sobbing into my closed hands but… everything hurt. My chest physically ached at Fred’s words, because no matter how kind and thoughtful she’d been in her rejection, it was still just that, and it burned my insides, it made me feel like a light had gone out, like there was nothing-

“Wesley?” A soft voice carried across my office. Sam. “Wesley, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes.” I subtly rubbed my eyes and removed my hands. “Yes, I’m fine. Perfectly. Just a little tired, you know.”

Soft green eyes swept over me, and there was such raw affection and concern in them that it made me want to pour out my heart, to tell Sam everything, to explain the source of my seemingly interminable sorrows. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not at all. Sam didn’t deserve to have my problems heaped on her.

Sam didn’t look particularly convinced. She closed the door behind her and advanced across the office to stand beside me. She hesitantly, carefully, rested one hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Are you sure?”  
“Yes.” I lied unconvincingly, turning away. “I’m right as rain.”

“Do you want me to call a car for you?” Sam offered. “You don’t have to stay for takeaway food if you don’t want to, I mean, you need rest and we agreed to do this before what was clearly a… stressful meeting, so I’d understand if-”

“No, no, food sounds lovely.” I smiled weakly. I didn’t want to just go home and wallow in misery. I’d spent most of last year doing that, and it hadn’t made me feel any better. “If you’d still like to get some, that is?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “Yeah, I really would.”

A while later, I started chuckling as Sam furiously drank milk straight of the jug. “Too hot!” She gasped. “Much too hot!”

“I did warn you.” I grinned, taking another bite of my curry.

“You tricked me!” Sam pouted accusingly, glaring at me like I was a monster for letting her have a bite of my food after she _begged_ me to. “You said it was _moderately_ hot, that was like taking a bite out of a volcano!”

“It’s not my fault you eat your food without any spice at all.” I shrugged. “This _is_ moderately hot.”

Sam pointedly looked away from me, focusing on devouring as much of the shared spinach and cheese - Saag Paneer, was it called? - as fast as humanly possible.

“Are you planning on leaving any of that for me?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Not anymore.” Sam replied through a mouthful of food. I laughed.

“Well, don’t expect me to leave you any onion bhajis, then.” I snatched up the bag and Sam immediately paled, shoving the spinach dish back in-between us as a sign of surrender. “Better.” I returned the bag to the table.

“You have quite an impressive appetite.” I mused, toying with what was left of the spinach.

“That’s what all my dorm-mates used to say.” Sam smiled sheepishly. “I won the eating contest three years running.”

“It really doesn’t show.” I didn’t consciously try to, but somehow still ended up looking over Sam’swonderfully slender, curvaceous figure.

Sam flushed bright pink. “That’s awful nice of you to say, I… thank you.” Sam swallowed. “Again.”

Then Sam swallowed, wiped her mouth on a napkin, and bent over to press a quick kiss to my cheek, smiling shyly all the while. She returned to studiously examining her food. I was reminded very suddenly that I hadn’t talked to Sam about appropriate boundaries and the impossibility of office romance. I winced, remembering my conversation with Fred, the empty hole in my chest. I frowned.

The empty hole that just… didn’t seem to be there any more. Or at least, was greatly reduced in size.

I refocused, turning back to Sam. I should talk to her. Explain that workplace romances were a bad idea. I swallowed. I should just tell wonderfully intelligent, funny-without-knowing, sweet, kind, cute, enthusiastic, bubbly, _beautiful_ \- because she was objectively, unquestionably beautiful, those emerald eyes, her hair, that smile - that there was no room at all for any office romance.

Sam turned to look at me, holding up an onion bhaji. “Last one. Want to share?” She smiled shyly, warm eyes fixed on mine, the tiniest flush on her porcelain cheeks.

“Sounds great.” I replied on reflex. Sam neatly tore it in two and tossed me half. I caught it with one hand and Sam beamed at me, holding hers up.

“Cheers?” She said hesitantly, blush deepening.

She was adorable. “Cheers.” I smiled, biting down on mine. Sam bit down on hers.

The talk could wait a little while. 

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

I hummed contentedly to myself as I walked through my lab, satchel slung over one shoulder. Everything was back on track. I’d saved Wesley from Sam’s disgraceful advances, and I hadn’t even needed to lay out proof that she was evil (which I now had plenty of time to, y’know… find).

Which meant everything could go back to the way it was meant to be! Wesley and me, hitting the books, solving the problems, working the cases… no more third-wheeling action cramping our style. Today was a bright, shiny new day and I was going to make the most of it. I was here nice and early in the morning so I could get a start on my own cases, then head upstairs to greet Wesley with a nice cup of tea when he got in. Find out how he’d slept, how his morning was going, make sure he’d made it thoroughly clear to Sam that she was to _stay the hell away from him_, all the standard early morning best-friend stuff.

And if I ran into any problems in the lab this morning that required some mystical input, I could invite him down to help me solve them. In fact, I should probably make sure to start working on the problems that might require mystical input first so I could start working with Wesley as soon as he walked through the door, before Sam dumped a huge pile of work on his desk. Yes, I should get him down here as soon as he got in. For entirely pragmatic, impersonal reasons. I smiled to myself as I walked into my office. That sounded nice. A pleasant little morning with Wesley, drinking tea, doing research together, catching up. Just like old times.

No Sam. No anybody else. Just me and Wes. What a treat. I put down my satchel next to my desk and looked up, drawing a surprised breath when I saw Spike standing in the corner of my office.

“Spike! What are you…” Once I got over my initial shock, I realised he looked sad. Or maybe afraid. And so very lost. “Can I help you?”

“Well, that’s the heart of it, isn’t it?” Spike smiled bitterly, not turning to face me. “The crux. The nub.”

“I’m sorry?” I frowned.

“You’re the smart one, aren’t you?” Spike said, abruptly turning to face me and taking a few steps forwards. “The go-to-girl who knows all about this ghost mumbo-jumbo.”

“Umm…” I let out a nervous laugh. “Not really. Wesley’s the expert on the occult, he was trained as a Watcher, really he’s a genius when it comes to the supernatural.”

“Yeah…” Spike didn’t look convinced. “But him and Sam _both_ say you’re the smartest gal around. And coming from two pea-in-a-pod, smart as a whip people like that? High praise.” I frowned: Wesley and Sam weren’t peas-in-a-pod! They weren’t even bananas-in-a-bunch! They were like miscellaneous, different pieces of fruit in a fruit bowl! One of which was rotten. And evil.

“You’re the Science Queen.” Spike continued, oblivious to my disapproval. “The hows, the what-ifs: that's your cup of tea. You figure things out in that cute little noggin of yours.”

“I guess, yes, I mean, I know more about science than either of those two completely separate disconnected people do.” I admitted. “But Wesley’s always been very biased when it comes to me, you really can’t trust what he says about my-”

“I’m slipping.” Spike announced. 

I blinked. “What?”

Spikeswallowed. “I don’t wanna go but it’s like… It’s like the ground underneath me is splitting open and my legs are straddling both sides of this bloody big chasm. It’s getting wider. Pulling me in.” Spike looked afraid. Deathly afraid.

“Is that… is that what’s happening when you keep vanishing?” I asked, my stomach twisting in knots. That was so… so _awful_.

Spike turned away from me, voice soft and quiet and so afraid. “I know what's down there—where it's trying to take me—and it's not the place heroes go. Not by a bloody long shot. It's the other one. Full of fire… and torment. And it's happening. And I'm terrified.”

I had to help him.

“Help me?” Spike turned back to face me, eyes pleading.

“Of course I’ll help you.” I nodded, smiling reassuringly. “That’s what we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story! Kudos and especially comments are greatly appreciated, and help me to improve my writing!


	3. New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves, and phantoms, and Texans, oh my!

Chapter 3: New Tricks

**Fred**

“Hey, uh, who wants some mu shu?” Lorne said conversationally, covering for us in case there were any bugs around. “I got beaucoup mu shu here.”

“I’ll take some, thanks.” I said absent-mindedly, my attention on scanning Wesley. If anybody had a bug planted on them, it was going to be Wesley. Sam would have had plenty of opportunity, the way she fawned over him like a lost puppy. 

“Why haven’t we had a picnic like this before?” Charles said loudly.

“Well, you know, you’ve all been working so hard…” Angel kept up the cover.

“Has anyone seen the plum sauce?” Wesley raised one eyebrow at me. I wasn’t done yet. He might still be bugged. If he was, that would be the proof I needed to begin unravelling her web of lies. I had to keep looking.

“I got it.” Charles supplied.

A few seconds later, I was forced to conclude he had no bugs. Sam was evidently onto us, knew we’d be keeping our guard up. I switched off the scanner. “We’re clean. Nobody’s listening.” I walked over to return the scanner to its case, remaining standing by the picnic table.

“You were late.” Angel looked at Wesley accusingly. 

“I thought I was being followed.” Wesley stepped forwards to set down his helmet, then sat down beside it. He flashed me a quick smile, which I returned. I was glad things were getting back to normal. Wesley had been acting really _odd_ for some reason in the days after we’d dealt with Hainsley. Not making prolonged eye contact, always rushing off for some work project or another… it had almost felt like he was _avoiding_ me. Which was ridiculous, because Wesley would never avoid me. We were too close for him to do that.

“I get that we have to be careful.” Charles frowned. “But feels weird hiding from the company we're supposed to be running.”

“We’re not hiding, we’re being safe.” Angel looked between us. “There are factions at Wolfram & Hart, people who want to see us destroyed.”

“We can’t paint everyone there with the same brush, though.” Wesley frowned, drumming his fingers lightly on the picnic table. “We know for a fact that not everyone there is evil. Some of them are perfectly pleasant, Lorne’s confirmed that. Some of them I see more than most of you, recently.”

“And, what, you think you can _trust her?”_ I asked disbelievingly, folding my arms. Wesley turned to me, brow furrowing. Dammit, I hadn’t been able to share my suspicions properly yet because I still didn’t have proof… “I mean… them.”

“What?” Wesley raised an eyebrow.

Oh, sure, make it look like _I_ was the one being silly here. “These people you’re spending time with. Like say… Sam. We can’t trust them! They signed on to work for an evil company, they ran the evil company _evilly_ for a long time before we took over, and they can’t be trusted, counted upon or befriended.”

“Lorne’s cleared the staff of any real malevolence.” Wesley shrugged. “And I’ve remained careful, developed good working relationships but nothing compromising. Further, I think I know evil when I see it, and Sam isn’t it.”

I suppressed a snort. I wonder if his inability to see evil might have something to do with it being clad in increasingly short flowery skirts and tight blouses? Every time I saw Sam she seemed to have found a way to dress less appropriately for the work environment, and not once had I seen Wesley reprimand her. I was also near entirely certain he’d flat-out _ignored_ the advice I’d given him about having a talk with Sam, given that she’d kept acting shamelessly around him this past week!

“I can confirm Sammy’s not evil, if that’s any help.” Lorne shrugged. No, Lorne, that’s because she’s fooling you somehow. Mystical expert, cunning, twisted mind… she’d know a workaround for your powers. No way she wouldn’t. It was the only explanation for how she’d snuck past you.

“Ignoring our little tangent,” Angel stepped in. “I think we’re all agreed that the Senior Partners _are_ evil.” They certainly were. But at least - like a certain deceased lawyer I was thinking of more fondly with every passing day - they were _honest_ about being evil. I much preferred beings who were out-and-out, card-carrying, super-evil and bent on spreading misery and bringing pain to the universe to beings who were just as bad, but cloaked their malevolence behind fake-warm smiles, and silly giggling, sparkling green eyes, flowery clothes, and a helpful can-do attitude. 

I nodded along vaguely with the rest of the conversation, listening to the argument about Charles having some of the Partners’ secrets hidden in his head, I chimed in to talk about Spike, and I frowned when Angel grabbed Wesley’s pen and raced off into the night without so much as a by-your-leave.

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

“Well aren’t we the busy little beaver.” Spike observed, wandering out of the nearest wall.

“Hi Spike.” I shot him a quick smile, then went back to reading through the reports.

“I don’t suppose all this bugaboo’s about yours ghostly?” Spike asked hopefully.

“Werewolf girl, sorry.” I said apologetically.

“Heard about that upstairs.” Spike nodded. “Bloody shame about the poor little miss, but-”

“Spike, I’m sorry,” I cut him off with a look. “But I’m kind of busy right now with the situation.” I gathered up my papers and made for the door. I had a girl to track down, and I was racing against the clock. And certain people who would go unnamed in Research and Intelligence were also looking for her, and would probably exploit the information to some nefarious purpose if they found her first.

“Hey, I’m a situation, remember?” Spike asked petulantly. “I’m a bloody phantom! And you and your serious girl spectacles were gonna help me with my bloody little problem!”

“I know, and I _bloody_ will.” I smiled reassuringly. “I had some ideas.” Very interesting ideas.

“Really?” Spike’s face lit up. “What? What ideas?”

I turned back to my files. I had to help this girl. “They’re gonna have to wait until-”

“Later?” Spike finished. “There may not be a later, luv… it’s getting worse.”

I snapped my gaze back to him. “Worse? You mean your-”

“Winking out of existence?” Spike nodded sombrely. “Yeah.”

“And not quick pops to the netherworld.” He sighed. “They’re lasting longer now.”

“How long?” I asked, gripping my folders tighter. If it was longer than three and a quarter minutes, that would invalidate my theory that-

“Feels like forever.” Spike walked over to me, eyes pleading. “Look, something's trying to hold onto me... on the other side. If you don't do something soon, one of these times... I may not come back.”

But I didn’t have time! I didn’t understand yet! I needed to buy Spike some time, but this was a mystical affair which meant… of course!

“I’ll get Wesley involved in this.” I nodded confidently. “Honestly, he should’ve been in from the start. We can crack your case together. No matter how long we have to work on it. He can help tether you to this plane while I-”

“No!” Spike yelled, shaking his head vehemently.

“He knows much more about the mystical than-”

“I can’t.” Spike walked back to stand by the window. “We got a history, him and me.”

“What?” Wesley and Spike had a history? Why hadn’t Wesley told me? We shared everything, why wouldn’t he have…

“It was a long time ago.” Spike spoke softly. “He was fresh out of the academy, when we crossed paths. It was a, what-you-call, battle of wills… and blood was spilled. Vendettas were sworn. It was a whole-”

“My God.” I shook my head. Now I could see why Wesley hadn’t told me. “You’re so full of crap.” It had never happened. The cheek on Spike! Lying to me when I was trying to help him! 

“Yeah, OK.” Spike caved. Truth is I just don't want anyone else to know about my condition, right? Last thing I need is this getting back to Angel.”

“Look.” I looked Spike in the eye. “I don’t know enough about the mystical to be sure of cracking this case before it’s too late for you. If I bring Wesley in… he’ll be able to stabilise you. We can work a couple of late nights on this together, we’ll have a solution in no time.”

“No! No, no!” Spike shook his head vehemently. “He’s too close with Angel! He’ll tell him what’s happening to me! There must be some other expert who…” 

Spike cut himself off, then nodded slowly. Oh no. Oh, no way. He was _not_ going to- 

“What about Sam?” He asked. I snorted and started to walk out of the room. “Pet, wait! She’s just as smart as Wesley-”

I snorted again.

“- and me and her, we hit it off, I trust her not to spill the beans on my condition, same as I trust you! You’re both wicked smart, experts in your field, surely you can put your heads together and figure this out?”

My skin crawled at the idea of spending night after night cooped up in this office with _Sam_ trying to solve Spike’s case. Having to listen to her babble on, hour after hour, still trying to convince me she wasn’t an evil, manipulative piece of…

“You’re forgetting the part where she’s _evil._” I pointed out, putting one hand on the doorknob. “Plus completely insufferable and not as smart as she thinks she is.”

Spike frowned. “Are you sure about either of those? She seems an alright sort, and I heard Wesley talking to Gunn about what a little genius she was a couple days ag-”

That was the last straw. “Spike, I appreciate your condition, but right now we have a more pressing priority. Like finding and helping this girl. As soon as we’re done with that, I’ll be on your case. No Wesley. Happy?” Spike glowered. I nodded and swept out of the room.

Sam, a genius? Please. As if. Spike must have misheard them. 

There was no way Wesley would say that about _her._

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

“We’re doing everything we can.” I snapped at Angel as I walked past him, heading for my computer terminal. Fred offered me a quick smile as I walked past before turning her attention back to her computer and I felt my stomach twist. It still hurt.

It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have held out hope for anything more after what had happened with Angelus, should have just been happy to have Fred’s friendship back but… it did hurt. More than anything. And whenever I was around Fred, chatting to her, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, watching the gears turning inside her remarkable mind, the pain was a thousand times worse.

“Two years of history on a dead guy and we can't get one lead on a living, breathing girl.” Angel grumbled. I kept my attention on my work.

“Fingerprints.” Fred pointed out. “Have his, don’t have hers.”

“There must be something at the attack scene!” Angel complained.

“Not so much as an earring.” I sighed. “If there was, this would be easy.”

I heard the irritating sound of Spike’s voice cut across the lab. “Bloody shame, letting the girl run off like that. Somebody’s slipping.” He really was impossible. I had no idea how Sam could stand to talk to him for any length of time at all. Yet she did, most days in fact. Sometimes for most of her breaks. Laughing happily at his jokes, sipping tea and asking him to tell her stories about his life….

And whenever she did, I got an uncomfortably familiar hot feeling behind my eyes and pulsing through my veins, along with prickly skin. Which was ridiculous. Like everything about my life these days.

“Tire prints?” Angel’s questioning voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“I’m working on it. It takes time, Angel.” Fred sighed. “What the… what is all this junk doing on my workspace?”

I turned around to see Fred glaring at a small pile of mystical components - bones, powders, dried eyeballs, the standard stuff - which had been carefully placed on one of the unused countertops. “Those are the materials Sam needs to do her locator spell.” I explained to Fred as Angel walked away. “That counter was unused, so I told her to leave these there while she grabbed the last couple of bits.”

Fred scowled. She always had disliked a messy workplace. “Can’t she do her spell somewhere else? I can do without ritualistic chanting and boogy-boogy giving me a migraine right now.”

“It’ll work better the more information Sam has.” I explained. “Here, she’ll be absorbing everything we’re saying about the girl as we run the spell, which ups the odds of Sam finding her.” And speaking of…

Sam dashed into the lab, arms full of various ingredients. “Sorry that took so long!”

“Don’t apologise Sam, get casting.” I turned back to face my screen. I had to keep working. There was a pretty good chance that even with a mystic of Sam’s skill working at it, a spell with this little information would fail or take too long to be helpful. “Angel, show Sam one of your sketches.”

“Hi, Dr Burkle.” Sam asked from behind me. “How’s the search going?”

“Slower than we’d like.” Fred’s voice sounded strangely icy. I suppose the frustration was getting to all of us. “Still, maybe if you start pulling your own weight…”

Sam giggled. “Good one! Umm… I’ll see what I can do.” Sam cleared her throat and started murmuring the incantation softly under her breath. I glanced over my shoulder: Sam was standing ramrod straight by her pile of ingredients, eyes closed, lips moving almost hypnotically as she cast the spell. The various spell components were glowing, melting, or simply vanishing as she did so. It was rather mesmeris-

I jerked back to reality at the sound of Fred snapping her fingers, fixing me with an impatient look bordering on a glare. “Keep working! We have a girl to save!”

“Got it.” I nodded sheepishly.

“And I expect that countertop cleaned after she’s done.” Fred said archly.

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. I’d clean up once Sam was done, and apologise to Fred for not checking with her beforehand. I really had thought that that workspace hadn’t been in use.

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

“I wonder how it’s going in there.” I mused, watching Angel talk to Nina through the glass windows of his office.

“Angel’s got a lot of experience with this kind of thing, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Fred nodded determinedly.

“That’s true enough.” I paused. “I wanted to apologise for making that mess on your worktop earlier. Rest assured it’s all cleaned up now.”

“Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t you.” Fred shrugged. “Just… have Sam check with me in future before she starts running around my lab, making a mess.”

“Will do.” I nodded. “Turns out we didn’t need the spell in the end anyway.”

“Nope.” Fred smiled. “Good old Angel Investigations original team solved it on our lonesome. Tire tracks, speed cameras, and registration plate equals mystery solved.”

“There’s very little we can’t achieve when we all put our minds to it.” I agreed.

“I think you’re right.” Fred’s smile broadened. 

I had to look away, couldn’t keep looking at that beautiful smile, those shining eyes. “Ah, Dr Royce.” I nodded as he crossed the lobby, Sam falling into step beside him. “And Sam. Glad to see you both made it.”

“Eventually.” Fred joked, voice unusually hard compared to the mirth of mere seconds ago.

“Well, now you’ve got the biological expert on werewolves.” Sam nodded to Royce. “And a behavioural expert on werewolves.” She beamed. It made her eyes light up in the most delightful way.

“Fred, Sam has some experience with previous newly turned werewolves.” I explained, turning back to face her. Fred frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Not much. Just one or two cases, but more than anyone else here.”

“Angel.” Fred nodded to the door to Angel’s office, which the vampire himself was emerging from. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she agreed to stay in the holding cell tonight, but she's pretty scared. So, what do we do now?” Angel folded his arms and looked between the four of us. Well, I knew very little about this area, so I’d leave the talking to the people in the know. 

“Well, we obviously can’t stop her transforming.” Sam frowned, biting her lip in that cute way she did when she was thinking through a problem. “But we can try to keep her from getting hurt when she does.”

“The first few transformations are the worst.” Royce sighed, running one hand through his hair. “The werewolf’s strength combined with the disorientation and fear…”

“Is she in danger of hurting herself?” Fred frowned, looking concerned.

“Unfortunately.” Sam nodded. Fred’s frown deepened. “They often claw at the walls, their skin, throw themselves bodily against the bars and walls to try and escape… can do a lot of damage.”

“Then we tranq her?” Angel suggested. “Let her sleep through it.”

“Well, that could work for tonight,” Royce rubbed his chin. “But, uh, over the long haul, bad idea.”

“We have to be able to do something.” Fred folded her arms.

“They like familiar scents and images.” Royce suggested. Sam raised an eyebrow. “Maybe if you took her home, let her get a few things, could have a calming effect.”

“I hadn’t heard about that calming effect before.” Sam frowned, glancing questioningly at me.Sadly, I had no input to offer. “Are you sure that-”

“Quite sure.” Dr Royce nodded vigorously. “Very, very sure.”

“I can take Nina by her house.” Angel nodded. “Let her grab a few things.”  
“Angel, it’s the middle of the day.” I frowned.

“Yeah, you can’t just wait in the car.” Fred agreed. 

“Fine.” Angel sighed. “Fred, you go but take security, in case Nina changes her mind.”

He started walking back to his office then stopped and turned around at the last second. “And bring Sam. Any experience with werewolves has to be helpful.”

The tiniest frown creased Sam’s brow. It was nothing compared to the look of disappointment on Fred’s face. “Angel, I have work to do in the lab.” Fred frowned. “I can’t just drop everything to go on a scavenger hunt.”

“And I have to help Mr Wyndam-Pryce on a translation.” Sam stammered. “I can’t just leave for hours, we’ve had this scheduled for days.”

“This is an important case.” I said slowly. “Nina needs people she can trust, people she can talk to, and people that we can count on to help her. Personally, I can’t think of any two people I’d trust more to take care of her, connect with her, and make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

Sam brightened. Fred looked unconvinced.

  
“What he said.” Angel jerked a thumb at me. 

Sam turned to Fred and smiled one of her dazzling smiles. “Girls’ day out, I guess!”

“Great.” Fred smiled, but it looked ever-so-slightly forced. Probably just worried about falling behind on lab work, she was incredibly conscientious. “What fun we’ll have.”

“Oh, absotively.” Sam agreed, nodding vigorously. The door to Angel’s office opened and Nina stepped out, beginning to walk hesitantly towards us. Then Sam turned to me. “I’ll… umm… see you when I get back? So we can work on that translation together?”

“Of course.” I nodded, smiling broadly at Sam. “If necessary, we can stay late tonight and work on it. Brew some tea, order some food.” Late-night work sessions with Sam inevitably proved to be extremely enjoyable, as well as very productive. Strangely, some of the highlights of my last few weeks had been hours spent burning the midnight oil with Sam, solving the trickier problems facing me…

  
“Sounds super!” Sam beamed at me, brushing some loose strands of golden-brown hair behind her shoulders. 

“Have fun, you two.” I smiled encouragingly, nodding to Nina as she walked up to the group. I frowned: was it just me, or had Fred looked exceptionally grumpy just now?

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

I fidgeted in the back of the van, glancing between the evil security guards, the newly turned werewolf, and Wesley’s definitely-malevolent-deputy. What a trifecta.

“So, the entourage…” Nina smiled anxiously, glancing at the guards. “All this for me?”

“Umm…” Sam looked at me. “Kinda.”

“It’s just in case you… you know…” I smiled nervously.

“Run away?” Nina raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not like a prisoner!” I reassured her.

“One hundred percent not a prisoner.” Sam agreed. “Like a… a guest of honour! With bodyguards.”

“It’s just very important that you stay with us tonight.” I finished my thought, resisting the urge to shoot Sam a glare for interrupting me. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“This is just all so…” Nina smiled faintly and chuckled ruefully. “I should be in Ceramics class right now. We’re learning Raku… Seems like somebody else’s life.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Nina, whose world had bene turned upside down. “Nina, it’s just three nights a month.” I smiled reassuringly. “Not even days. Your life doesn’t have to change… much.”

“How would you…” Nina glanced me over. “You’re not a monster too, are you?”

“Nope.” I shook my head and smiled apologetically. “Standard-issue science nerd. I did spend five years in a hell dimension, until Angel saved me.”

“Guess he saves a lot of girls, huh?” Nina turned to Sam. “You?”

“Afraid not.” Sam shrugged. “Standard-issue history-nerd here. No traumatic experiences to speak of… unless you count my boss threatening to liquify me…”

“Angel threatened to _liquify_ you?” Nina’s eyes widened.

Oh, dammit Sam! “No, no!” I shook my head. “Wesley’s her boss, not Nina. And, umm, he didn’t threaten to liquify her, it was her old boss… from before we took over. We being Angel, me, Wesley and a few of my other friends.”

“They took over recently.” Sam nodded. “I’ve been here long-haul.”

“So, you and Angel…” Nina looked at me appraisingly. “Are you two like a couple?”

“Me and Angel?” I blinked at the ridiculousness of it. Angel _wasn’t_ my type. Too broody, not an intellectual partner, kind of immature, _very_ different interests, and not much of a sharer (emotionally). Even putting aside the curse. “Oh God, no. Angel doesn’t date much, at all, because of his circumstances.”

  
“Fred and Angel were almost a thing though, a long while back.” Sam piped up. “After he rescued her, there was a bit of interest on both sides, they went on some dates… but nothing really came of it.”

I stiffened: how did Sam know I’d had a crush on Angel? And there certainly hadn’t been interest on his side - which was definitely for the best, considering it had been a childish infatuation on my part, and there was his curse to consider anyhow - and calling them dates was definitely pushing it, since I’d been the only one who’d thought of it as a date, Angel had just wanted somebody to go watch two Charles Heston films with…

“How’d you hear about that?” I frowned at Sam. “That was years ago.”

“Oh.” Sam coloured. “Sorry, it umm, just slipped out. Wesley and I were chatting about you a while back, and how you two are such good friends-”

_Best_ friends, we were best friends, not good friends, _best _friends!

“- and I was asking about how you survived so long in Pylea and he talked a little about how brave and strong and independent you were, and then a little less about how you got your footing back here once they pulled you out.” Wesley had shared details of my life with his malevolent, annoyingly pretty, put-together, manipulative assistant? What the hell, Wes?

“_So_, anyway.” Nina smiled, turning to face Sam. “Was Wesley the hot English guy you were talking to when I got out of Angel’s office?”

“Yep, that’s Wesley!” Sam beamed. “He’s my boss. Although I’d say he was more classically handsome than hot, ‘hot’ doesn’t really capture-”  
“What’s he like?” Nina rested her chin on one hand.

“He’s the _best._” Sam smiled faintly, eyes going a little vacant. I watched in disbelief. “He’s so smart. And funny. And sweet and nice. He makes really good tea, and he cares so much, and he’s so confident and brave and reassuring and handsome… he’s perfect.” Sam blinked, eyes refocusing, and flushed bright pink.

I mean… All of those things were objectively _true._ Wesley was smart, funny, sweet and nice, he made excellent tea, he cared a lot about me, he was brave and obviously he was very handsome… but Sam still shouldn’t be thinking or saying those things about him! He was her boss and it was totally inappropriate of her! 

Besides, she was _evil._ Wesley wouldn’t be interested in dating someone evil, even if she was unfairly beautiful, with flowing shining hair, sparkling emerald eyes, full lips, a perfect figure and… she was evil! Wesley liked good, kind people. Not evil people. Sam didn’t have a chance with him.

No way. He was _my_ best friend, and even if she had Wesley fooled, I was not going to let her get those evil, soft-looking hands on him!

“So you two must be a couple, right?” Nina smiled conspiratorially at Sam. “I mean, I only caught a glimpse, but the way he _looks_ at you… and then the way you look when you talk about him…”

Wesley didn’t ‘_look’_ at Sam like that! Nina had no idea what she was talking about! No idea at all! I knew Wesley best, I would know if he was making the horrifyingly grave mistake of falling for some evil Wolfram and Hart floozy!

“Oh, what?” Sam went an even brighter shade of pink. “No! No, no, no! I mean… we’re just… he’s… I mean he’s my boss and umm… I mean… he’s _him_ and I’m… I’m just _me_, I mean, there’s no way he’d even look twice at me if we didn’t have to work together all day, every day…” A fact Sam was using to her advantage.

Nina raised both eyebrows disbelievingly at Sam. “Have you _looked_ in a mirror lately? You’re gorgeous. Fred, tell her.”

“Huh?” I blinked, looking at Nina’s expectant look. “Oh. Sure. Yeah.”

“See?” Nina smiled sultrily. “Trust me. I saw the way he looked at you, Sam. Even if he hasn’t figured it out yet… he really cares about you.”  
Sam went red, looking at her feet. “You… you really think so?”

“Oh look, we’re here!” I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up, shooing Sam and Nina out of the car. “Let’s go, there’s a full moon tonight, let’s go, go, go!” No sense letting Nina get Sam’s hopes up, even if she was evil, besides like I said we had to hurry and I really didn’t have time to think about this right now, so I should just not think about it and take some time over it later.

I should not be thinking about Wesley. I could do that.

Easy.

Nina got halfway across the lawn in front of her house before she drew to a halt and turned around. “I changed my mind.” She sounded choked. Poor thing.

“We can go in first.” I gestured to Sam and myself. Sam nodded eagerly. “Explain, make sure that-”

“No,” Nina shook her head. Oh, I wish Wes was here instead of Sam, he’d know just what to say. “Let’s just-” 

“Hey, I know you’re scared.” I took her hand and squeezed it. “But running away isn’t gonna help.”

Nina sighed. She nodded wordlessly, allowing me to lead her inside, Sam bringing up the rear. “What about fleeing? Can I flee?”

“It’d be a bad idea.” Sam opined. “Trust me, this is for the best.”

“Besides, they might not even be here.” I pointed out.

As if on cue, a woman who looked like a slightly older version of Nina stalked into the hall, glaring at us. “What the hell happened to you? I’ve been worried…” She started yelling, but trailed off when she looked between Sam and me. “Who are you two?”

“I’m Sam.” I could practically feel the light gleaming off those perfect white teeth singeing the back of my head when she smiled. “And this is Fred, it’s really lovely to meet-”

She ignored Sam, turning back to Nina. “I come home and you’re just _gone._ Amanda was terrified!”

“Jill, I’m sorry.” Nina said.

“Who leaves the house without their purse or keys?” She demanded. “What did you do, jump out the window?”

I swallowed. I mean, technically, yes. While transformed into a wolf. “I thought Amanda heard me say I was leaving.” Nina said weakly.

“Oh that’s great.” Jill snarled. “Blame it on the nine-year-old!”

“Don’t blame her!” Sam cried out and she sounded almost _pained._ I turned around to see tears welling in Sam’s eyes, her lower lip trembling, whole body shaking like a leaf. “This is all my fault! I was such an idiot, I… I called Nina completely suicidal because this boy in one of our classes dumped me and I… I was screaming and weeping and despondent and… and… I was so stupid, I hung up on Nina during the middle of the conversation and she panicked, she thought I was going to do something crazy and I nearly did, so she came to help me and she _saved my life._”

I felt a sudden, near-irresistible urge to give Sam a hug. Which was ridiculous. Because I knew that whole story was made-up but she looked so _vulnerable,_ and sad, and guilty, and lost and cute… was this some kind of spell she was using or was she just a scarily good actor?

“That’s right.” Nina nodded. Sam took a trembling step forwards to pull Nina into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Nina, I had no idea you were babysitting, I shouldn’t have called, I was stupid, I should have just-”

“There, there, Sam, don’t worry, you couldn’t have known.” I stepped over to rub her back gently. “It’s not your fault, shush.”

I turned pleading eyes on Jill, trying to say wordlessly not to get angry. If only because I wasn’t sure I could handle another round of whatever-that-was from Sam without hugging her myself. That was some powerful mojo.

“I’m so sorry, Jill.” Nina whispered. “I was panicking, I just… I had to help Sam. I sprinted out of the house, I called Fred, and we had to try to track her down, it was hectic… I’m so sorry I left Mandy alone.”

Jill looked torn between anger and sympathy. Which was a definite improvement over apocalyptic rage.

“I swear, it will _never_ happen again.” Nina promised. “I… I can’t babysit tonight, but if you’re willing to let me help again in future, try to make this up to you, I can. I just… I just need to grab some things and go.” 

Jill hesitated. Then she nodded curtly, shooting Sam a sympathetic look.

One blanket, some framed photos and a couple of stuffed toys later, we were walking back to the van. “I feel terrible.” Sam whispered, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “That was awful of me, wasn’t it?”

“I’d say you saved me from the rage-induced rant of the century, so no complaints here.” Nina smiled reassuringly. “Where did you learn to act like that? It was amazing.”

“Drama society at college.” Sam flushed. “I don’t have much range unfortunately… I can only really do over-the-top dramatic performances…” Sure. Sure you could. Sure, you weren’t applying those acting skills every day constantly to conceal your true nature, worm your way into our confidences, and try to seduce Wesley.

“Fred, do I have something on my nose?” Sam frowned at me.

“What?” I blinked, realising I’d been glaring. “Oh, no. Sorry. Just lost in thought.” I turned to look at the van and frowned. The door was ajar.

“That’s weird.” I walked up to the door and pulled it open: both guards were unconscious on the floor. “And really not good. RUN!”

I fumbled to draw my tranq gun as the three of us sprinted away from the van. Another van parked right next to us opened up and masked men poured out, surging towards Nina. I shot one and he went down but two more had already grabbed Nina. I aimed my pistol and fired, knocking another one down.

An arm wrapped around my throat from behind and I slammed my hand back straight into the man’s face. He grunted and stumbled backwards. I caught a glimpse of Sam throwing the blanket over his head, before pulling on it to send him to the floor with a surprised yelp. I swung back round, aiming the pistol again but something that looked like a truncheon slammed into my head and everything went dark.

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Wesley**

Lorne gave us a thumbs up as Royce sang his way through a rendition of Jessie’s girl. I leaned against the arm of the sofa, frowning at my book. “Lorne’s read the entire security team already, and the lab staff, as well as half my department.”

“If the kidnappers have someone inside Wolfram and Hart, Lorne’ll know.” Angel muttered, shooting Lorne a look.

“Somebody could have detected her before we did.” Sam pointed out, clutching an ice pack to her head where she sat on the sofa next to me. “Pulled off a better tracking spell and figured out where she was in advance.”

“If that was the case, they’d have grabbed her before we did.” Fred sighed, shaking her head. “This was definitely a leak, I’m sure of it.”

“Then we wait for Lorne.” Gunn sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“It’s all my fault.” Fred scowled, flopping back on the sofa. “I’m so stupid.”

“No, no, no!” Sam sat up straight for the first time, wincing in pain. I reached out a hand to gently push her back onto the cushions I’d laid out for her. She’d taken a nasty head wound, the last thing Sam needed was to make any sudden moves. “You were amazing! You figured out something was wrong in advance, went to check if our getaway vehicle was any good, and when it wasn’t you led us away immediately! You took down two of those guys completely solo! If I was half as badass as you, Nina would still be with us…”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sam.” I squeezed her shoulder. “This wasn’t meant to be a combat operation. If anyone’s, it’s my fault for not being there to back you up.”  
“If anything happens to Nina it’s on me.” Angel growled, pacing. He went to answer his office door, and started talking to Royce.

“I’ll be-” Fred, staring at the door to the lobby, started to speak, then sprinted out into the lobby.

I frowned. That was rather odd. “I don’t know how she’s still walking around.” Sam winced, closing her eyes. “I hurt just sitting here.”

“You took a very nasty blow to the head.” I murmured, leaning over to examine her again. Maybe I should have insisted that medical give her those painkillers. “And unlike Fred, you don’t have combat experience.”

“Or any experience.” Sam sighed. “I was useless.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I adjusted her positioning of the icepack slightly and Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Better?”

“Much better.” She smiled, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”

“I hear you defused the situation with Nina’s sister quite effectively.” I mused, reading through my notes on werewolves while I talked to her. “Had her eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Acting classes.” Sam went pink. “It was nothing.”

“Calming an enraged parent who feels their child was threatened is no small feat.” I pointed out. “And you improvised it.”

“I guess.”

I chuckled, rubbing Sam’s back reassuringly. She made contented noises, shuffling over to rest her head on my shoulder. “When are you going to start believing me when I tell you that you’re extraordinary?” I sighed, unable to keep myself from delighting momentarily in the wonderful, fruity smell of Sam’s hair.

  
“One of these days, I’m sure.” She smiled, squirming slightly where she sat. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I’m your boss, that’s part of my job.” I reminded Sam. I stiffened, suddenly reminded that I hadn’t had that talk with Sam. The talk Fred had told me I should definitely have. About boundaries and appropriateness and… hugging Sam to comfort her on the sofa while she recovered from a nasty head wound, telling her she was extraordinary, and rubbing her back while smelling her hair probably went a very long way past what was appropriate, didn’t it?

Because no matter how objectively beautiful, intelligent, and sweet Sam was, I was still her direct superior and it wouldn’t be right - in any sense of the word - to fraternise or… or do anything of the sort. Even if she wanted to, which she obviously wouldn’t, because a woman like Sam would have to be categorically insane to want anything to do with somebody like me. We were just close friends, work colleagues, all the joking was just part of a healthy relationship, we ordered in food together most nights out of necessity, and carpooled every night for the company and… there was nothing more.

Even when she was smiling at me so beautifully, emerald eyes hidden partially behind eyelids mostly shut, her pretty mouth curled into a blissful expression, cheeks ever so slightly flushed, luscious hair falling over my neck, my chest, my back…

“Guys!” I heard Fred yell from the atrium and carefully unwrapped my arm from Sam, gently teasing her head off my shoulder onto the back of the sofa. Sam let out an unhappy-sounding noise and I chuckled as I stood up, feeling a strange pang in my chest at the loss of contact, the sudden absence of that delightful warmth, the loss of proximity to all her lovely varied scents. “I found something in Royce’s office, you have to come see!”

I followed Gunn and Fred through the corridors until we reached Royce’s office… where the man in question was lying unconscious on the floor, being dragged out of the room by Angel. “What’s this?” Fred tossed me a vial with a herb inside, crossing her arms expectantly.

I frowned and squinted at it. “This is Calendula.” Of course. Now it made sense. “It’s a drug that can be ingested to block psychic intrusions. It must also work on Lorne’s powers… prevented him from sensing that Royce was deceiving us.”

Fred looked ecstatic, as she often did when cracking a case. “So anyone can ingest this and it would just - _wham!_ \- totally block Lorne’s mojo?”

“Presumably. Lorne’s powers are unique so there’s no way to know, but it worked for Royce.” I put down the vial. “Which is problematic for our personnel sweep thus far.”

“We’ll need to re-check a bunch of the staff.” Fred nodded eagerly. “Y’know, just the people most likely to know about this stuff and how they could use it against us. Couple of folks in science, the upper echelon of Research and Intelligence…”

“That’s a good idea.” I nodded approvingly. “I’ll have Sam organise another round of checks, without letting anybody know they’re checks. That way, nobody will know to use this stuff in advance.”

I turned to face Gunn as he asked. “How long does this stuff last?”

“A couple of minutes at best.” I mused. “Depending on the dose obviously. But take too much and Lorne wouldn’t be able to see any of a person’s aura, so he’d know something was off anyway.”

“Oh.” Fred sounded disappointed. “Still. We should run another check.”  
“Definitely.” I agreed.

“Yo! Here we go!” Gunn ripped away the false bottom of a drawer, emptying its hidden contents onto the desk. “We got ourselves a secret panel!”

_ \+ + + + + + +_

**Fred**

I walked into my office, shivering a little at the dark. Nina’s case was all sorted, but Spike’s situation was anything but. This was urgent now. Nobody had seen Spike for hours, I had to figure out where he was, and how I could help him. Quickly. I flicked on the light on my desk and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Ah! Spike!” He was standing in the corner, little more than the faintest of shadows. Lingering in the darkness. “I’ve been looking for you… You were gone again, weren’t you? To the place you go when you’re not here?” He began walking across the office towards me. He looked even less substantial in the light.

“I was there.” Spike nodded, voice faint as a whisper on the wind. “Nowhere. I didn’t think I was coming back.”

“But you did.” I smiled, trying to reassure him. “Mostly! And you led me to Dr Royce’s office, which was…”

Spike’s expression was completely blank. Oh. Just dumb luck, then. Guess I could always use more of that.

“Completely not on purpose.” I finished. “But still… you’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Last gasp before eternal fire and brimstone.” Spike smiled weakly. “Let’s party.”

“Please let me get Wesley.” I begged. He could help me, help Spike, he could help me fix this, together we could-

“No.” Spike shook his head.

“But he could… he could do something, a spell, a ritual-”

“I said no.” His voice was as quiet as a leaf spiralling through the air.

“Ok, then I’m going to help you.” I stepped forwards, shaking my head at his stubbornness, and fixed him with my most intense look. I was _not_ going to let Spike fade away into nothingness. He didn’t deserve that. I was Fred Burkle, I saved lives every day, and I was _not_ going to let this one slip through my fingers just because he was stubborn and posed more of a tricky problem. “Well, I… I don't know exactly, but I am going to find a way to bring you back, really bring you back. I promise.”

And as if my words had somehow bolstered his spirit - which was a terrible pun I was going to have to use on him at some point - he seemed to shade in, at least _looking _substantial now. “Well, all right then.” He grinned cockily. “No need to get dramatic.”

  
I smiled at him and walked over to my desk, picking up the phone. “What are you doing, pet?” Spike tilted his head, still grinning.

“I’m making a phone call.” I clutched the receiver slightly tighter. “I’m doing what’s right.”

It rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” Wesley’s voice was calm and controlled as always. Spike shook his head vigorously, glaring daggers at me.

“Hi, Wes. How’s it going?” I gestured for Spike to calm down.

“Well, thank you. Nina is safely ensconced downstairs, Angel is dealing with Crane’s business as we speak… everything resolved itself nicely.”  
“You mean _you_ resolved everything nicely.” I pointed out, grinning.

“Yes, I suppose I did help… Can I assist you with something, Fred?” I felt a pang at the question. It wasn’t an impatient question. He wasn’t trying to get rid of me. He just honestly believed I couldn’t have called him without wanting something. Which was sad.

I wish it wasn’t true this time.  
  
“Actually, I kinda need to talk to Sam.” I paused. “Is she there?”

“She is. Let me pass you over.” I heard his voice muffled as he spoke into the office. “Sam, it’s Fred. She needs to talk to you.” Spike bowed his head, holding up both hands placatingly. I flashed him a smile.

“Dr Burkle?”

“Hi, Sam.” I grimaced and drew a deep breath. “I need a favour from you.”

“Oh.” Sam sounded surprised. “Go right ahead.”

“Can you come down to my office?” I bit my lip, hating what I was about to say. “And please… tell Wesley it’s something routine. Can you do that?”

There was a long pause. “Alright.” Sam said quietly. “I’ll be down soon.”

“Thank you. I promise, it’s important.” I put down the phone.

“I’m important, am I?” Spike smirked, leaning against the wall. “Consider me flattered.”

“I think Sam should be able to come up with something.” I mused, leaning back in my chair. “A spell or some kind of stop-gap measure… to buy me a little time. Just enough to make you a real boy again.”

“Thank you, pet.” Spike smiled gratefully. “I know you don’t trust her so… I’ll keep an eye on her while she’s in the lab, if you want. Won’t let my guard down. If it puts your mind at ease.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, then frowned. “I think she’s playing a longer game than that, though. Much longer.”

“Well.” Spike leaned on my desk. “If there’s one thing I learned from several years saving the world, it’s that the trick to figuring out what a villain’s gonna do is figuring out what they _want._ Same applies in reverse, of course.”

“I don’t know what she wants though.” I sighed. There was a comfortable silence.

“Are you _really _sure she’s evil?” Spike grinned and raised an eyebrow, looking almost on the verge of laughter. “I mean… _Sam?”_

I threw a pencil through his head and he laughed.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Mmm, talk about a room with a view!” Lorne looked over the cityscape appreciatively.   
“Wesley!” Fred - nose pressed up against the glass, smiling - grabbed my arm and pulled me up to the window of Angel’s very fashionable apartment, situated above his office. I chuckled as I ended up beside her. She pointed over the city. “Is that the hotel?”

“Where?” I tore my eyes away from her impossibly beautiful face, fixed in that wonderfully cute expression, following the direction of her finger. That wasn’t the hotel. “No, I think that’s the centre for Scientology.”

“Oh, right.” Fred giggled, offering me an embarrassed smile. I felt an awful pang of longing. Fred was so special. She had no idea. “They look nothing alike at all.”

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from her and followed Lorne towards the bar. “I was starting to think we were never gonna see the inside of this place.” Gunn grinned, eyes sweeping the room.

“I'm sorry. I probably should've had you guys over sooner,” Angel shrugged. “But I'm still trying to get used to the place myself.” 

“Look at this!” Lorne laughed happily, rubbing his hands together as he approached the bar. “Hey, Cosmos all around?”  
“Sounds good!” Fred wandered over to the sofa and sat down in the middle, wide eyes appraising the apartment in more detail.

“It’s quite luxurious.” I nodded, moving to sit down in one of the chairs.

“Wes!” Fred patted the sofa next to her firmly. I chuckled, vacating my chair and walking over to plop myself down at the end of the sofa next to her. Fred smiled widely at me, leaning back on the cushions.

“Don’t mean to talk shop,” Gunn shrugged out of his jacket, settling down in one of the two luxuriously large armchairs. “But Crane’s Bistro of the Bizarre?”

“Out of business.” Angel smiled, reclining on one end of the sofa. “Permanently.”

“But what if I have a craving for Sasquatch soup?” I raised an eyebrow. Fred giggled.

“Is that something you English eat with your beans on toast?” Gunn smirked at me.

“Oh, you guys are making me hungry.” Fred looked around the room and smiled hopefully. “Who wants Chinese?”

“I’m in.” I nodded.

“As long as nothing comes tar-tar.” Gunn nodded.

Fred slipped her phone out of her pocket and smiled at me, flipping it open. “What is it you desire?” Her smile was wide, head resting on the back of the sofa, chocolate-brown tresses tumbling past her shoulders, makeup perfect, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes warm and compassionate, inquisitive…

_You._

I struggled to speak. I couldn’t say that. Fred had been clear. We were just friends. Close friends, good friends, the best of friends… but I would have to learn to content myself with that.

As best as I could.

“I’m too tired to make any decisions.” I closed my eyes to keep myself from staring at her, letting out a sigh.

“Just order the usual, Fredikins.” Lorne called from the chair across the room.

“I’m buying.” Angel offered. Oh, my. He _was_ in a good mood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, hell just froze over!” Lorne clapped.

“So, werewolf girl…” I opened one eye to see Gunn leaning forwards, eyes fixed on Angel. “Think you got a shot?”

All of us were watching Angel curiously. Angel shrugged. “She gave me a look.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow at Angel. “A look?” A look could be a very meaningful thing indeed.

Fred turned back to smile widely at me, one eyebrow raised. She nodded over her shoulder at Angel and rolled her eyes, still grinning delightedly as she held the phone to her ear.

And sometimes a look could mean _nothing_ at all. No matter how much you wanted it to. I smiled back at her weakly.

The person on the other end must have answered because Fred started chatting animatedly. “We moved, actually, to a law firm. Uh-huh. Different. No, nice.” She was just perfection. “Ok, um, one mu shu chicken, two beef and broccolis, one cashew shrimp, maybe some lettuce wraps…”

“Duck pancakes.” I pleaded.

“And some duck pancakes.” Fred finished. “Yep. You need the address? Okay!”

Fred rattled it off, said goodbye cheerily and flipped her phone back shut. “So much for too tired to make any decisions.” She grinned, flicking my nose.

I rubbed my nose, wincing exaggeratedly. Fred rolled her eyes. “Am I not allowed to be spontaneous?”

“Yes, you are, but that’s not normally a right you exercise…” Fred grinned mischievously and I chuckled. 

“You get a cosmo! And _you_ get a cosmo!” Lorne passed Fred and me a drink in turn.

“Thanks.” We said simultaneously. Fred offered me a brief smile as I blushed slightly.

“So, what are we gonna drink to?” Fred toyed with her glass idly, eyeing the liquid thoughtfully.

“Am I allowed to be too tired to make any decisions again?”

“Alright, but that’s starting to sound like a lazy excuse.” Fred scolded me and I chuckled. Fred pursed her lips, then nodded firmly. “To moving forwards.” She beamed at me, lifting up her glass.

Another little reminder. Moving forwards… moving onwards… moving on. Naturally.

It was a lot to move on from.

Fred was a lot to move on from.

Or to try to move on from. As much as I could.

But I was going to try. It was what she wanted.

“To… moving forwards.” I managed a weak smile and clinked glasses with Fred. She grinned at me and downed her whole glass in one. I blinked.

“Another!” Fred cried, holding her empty glass aloft. Lorne laughed and obliged. “Hurry, up, Wes, or you’ll end up very behind.” I smiled, raised my glass and downed it, reminding myself that it would be the only alcohol I could drink tonight. 

Fred cheered and snatched my glass out of my hand, holding it up for Lorne. Lorne obliged once again. This had all the makings of a very wonderful evening.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Is there… any more… duck?” I rested my head on the arm of the sofa, smiling. The arm of the sofa felt very warm today. And weirdly high up.

“We ran out of food some time ago.” The arm of the sofa vibrated softly as Wesley spoke. That was weird. “Probably a shame. You look like you need some to sober up.”

“I don’t need to sober up!” I wasn’t drunk! I opened my eyes, casting around for Wesley so I could throw an accusing glare his way. No way. My head was resting on Wesley’s shoulder. “Wesley?” I frowned up at him.

“Hmm?”

“When did you become part of the sofa?”

Wesley laughed. “What’s so funny?” I frowned, scrutinising his face. His wonderfully symmetrical, rugged, very handsome face. Which looked so much better when he was smiling at me. Like he had been all night… when I smiled at him. Which was most of the time.

“You’re very funny.” Wesley leaned back on the sofa. “I forgot how easy it is for you to get drunk. And how funny you are when you do.”

“Hey!” I sat upright on my knees on the sofa, feeling the entire sofa shift underneath me and almost unsettle me. Woah. That had been a big earthquake. Which nobody else had reacted to. Huh. I restrained myself to swaying slightly. Wesley laughed. “Stop that!” I swatted his shoulder.

He only laughed more. I pouted at him. “I’m not as think as you drunk I am!” I declared.

I frowned. That hadn’t been quite right, had it? Wesley’s burst of uproarious laughter seemed to confirm it. This was intolerable. I couldn’t handle Wesley being this impertinent and mocking. Not without more alcohol.

“Lorneeeee!” I called out, flopping back onto the sofa. “Get me a Cosmo, hold the cranberry juice and lime juice!”

“Coming right up!” Lorne was in his element, mixing the drinks. He must really miss being a bartender. He did seem kinda blue sometimes running the entertainment division… which on him was I suppose more of a yellow shade, logically. I giggled.

“Fred?” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that just vodka and triple sec?”

I nodded happily. “You want one too?”

“I think someone is going to need to be sober enough to get you home.” Wesley grinned, flicking my nose.

The cheek! Who did he think he was, flicking my nose! That was unacceptable! He had to be taught a lesson. I stood up, towering over him and hiccuped. “Welsey… Wesley Wand… Wyndam-Pryce, if you think you can flick my nose and get away with… with it you… you got another thing coming!”

“I do, do I?” Wesley smirked. So cocky! He was lucky that sly grin looked so good on him. Every facial expression looked good on him. That was really unfair. I was trying to be cross at him and he was looking handsome and derailing my train of thought! “What is it that I have coming?”

I frowned. “I’m not sure. Oh.” I blinked. Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Earthquake.” I explained.

This one succeeded in toppling me over. I fell down onto Wesley with a thump, giggling as I did so. I crawled into his lap, resting my head on his shoulder. He was so comfy and warm. “Fred,” Wesley sounded choked. “Please move.”

“Shan’t.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Lorne! Where’s my drink?”

“Here you go.” Lorne passed it to me and I beamed at him as I accepted it.

  
“Fred,” Wesley said diplomatically. “Maybe you shouldn’t-”

I downed it and smacked my lips. “Olé!” I yelled and tossed the glass back over my shoulder. I heard it shatter way behind me and collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“I’d like to apologise on behalf of Fred.” Wesley muttered to Angel.

“Accepted.” Angel chuckled.

“What is everyone finding so funny?” I repositioned myself so I was leaning back against Wesley’s chest, looking around the room. Everyone looked on the verge of laughter.

“Nothing.”

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

I pouted. They all burst out laughing. “Wesley!” I turned round to face him, accidentally bumping my nose against his. His face was warm. “Gimme another glass. I wanna throw it.”

“Why?” Wesley frowned, turning his face away from mine. I felt a pang. I couldn’t see his lovely soft eyes as well now.

“Does there have to be a _why_?” I demanded, gripping his chin and trying to pull him back round to face me.

Wesley stood up abruptly. I yelped and almost fell over due to the rapid vertical escalation, only saved by one of Wesley’s hands catching my back before I reached forty-five degrees. “Thanks for the save!” I grinned and looped both arms around Wesley’s neck, burying my face in his chest. He smelled great. His hand on my back felt lovely. Reassuring.

Wesley was so lovely.

“Fred, please-”

“Please what?” I looked up at him and frowned. He looked almost pained. Why was Wesley in pain? Could I help? “You look so _sad_, Wes. Why are you so sad? Can I help?”

“No.” Wesley said quietly, closing his eyes.

“Are you sure?” I pulled myself so I was standing up straighter against him - still leaning on him a lot, but at least my head was nearer his head now! - and stroked his cheek affectionately. Wesley deserved affection, he seemed to work so hard to starve himself of it. “I… you’re the best in the whole wide world, Wes, let me help you. C’monnnnnnnnnnnn.”

“I think you’ll find you’re the best in the whole wide world.” Wesley replied quietly, gently prying my hands off his shoulders. 

“Better than Sam?” I frowned at him.

Wesley blinked. “What?”

“I don’t…” I tapped Wesley’s chest, pouting. “I don’t like that you spend so much time with Sam… she’s no good for you… she’s evil! You… you should be spending time with us! Like this!” I gestured to the two of us. “This is so much better, isn’t it? Me, you, the two of us…”

Wesley lurched away from me, breathing heavily. 

“Wes?” I frowned. What was up with him tonight? Couldn’t he just let me cuddle him? Didn’t he know that he was very cuddle-able and similarly huggable and that being unable to cuddle and/or hug him was causing me grave physical distress? He also looked very kissable and _was_ very kissable if memory served, which memory usually did, but I was not gonna think about that! No sir! No more thinking about the soft, warm, tasty lips of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce!

Mmm. 

Tasty. He’d tasted nice when we’d kissed, and he’d been so soft and warm and tender and…

Why didn’t I spend more time thinking about the soft, warm, tasty lips of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce? Why had we never kissed again? What was the reason? _Was_ there a reason why I hadn’t kissed Wesley again? He was smart, funny, handsome, cute, he was nice - when he wasn’t making fun of me for being a _tiny_ bit tipsy! - and he cared about me so much!

I should just kiss him. Kissing him was the best. That would be best. Definitely for the best. I walked over to him, slightly unsteadily. “Wesley!” I shook his shoulder. “Turn around.”

He turned around. I swayed unsteadily and he caught my shoulders. That was nice. A second later he’d guided me over to the sofa and gently pushed me down. I frowned. Now he was standing up and I was sitting down and his mouth was ages away from mine. _Not _nice.

“Fred,” His brow furrowed. “You should-” A phone started ringing. I think it was his. 

“Wesley!” I didn’t feel up to standing up so I just patted the sofa next to me demandingly. “C’mon! I won’t bite!” Unless he wanted me to…

Wesley shook his head. “Just… sit down a minute. Try to get your bearings.” My bearings were fine! My bearings were superb! They were the beariest bearings that had ever been borne! Wesley removed his phone from one pocket and opened it. I saw a smile move over his face when he saw the incoming number and answered the phone. “Good evening, Sam.” I felt a rush of heat flood through me and scowled. _Sam. _Why did she have to intrude on our nice time together? It felt like she was always doing that…

“Is it?” Wesley nodded slowly. “Alright. Sure. Yes, now is fine. No, it’s not a bother, we already agreed on this earlier. Things are wrapping up here, I’ll be right down. See you soon.” Wesley pocketed his phone.

“You’re leaving?” I pouted at him, feeling incredibly sad all of a sudden. We were having _fun_, he couldn’t leave!

“Sam’s car is in the shop.” Wesley explained. “Seeing as how you all only forced one small drink on me, I’m still in a fit state to get her home. So I’m doing that.” Her car was in the shop? Please, that was the oldest trick in the book! She was just shamelessly trying to get him to spend time with her alone so she could steal him from me! I should just tell him that this was the oldest trick in the book, then he wouldn’t…

Unless she already had her claws in him too deep. Unless he didn’t know that she was interested like that, and me telling him would be the final step to her… to him… to them… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let her do that!  


She did not get to steal my Wesley!

“Angel should take Sam home instead.” I suggested, brightening. “They both like Barry Manilow, they can put a CD on, it’ll be perfect! That way, you can take me home! We can keep hanging out all the way back! It’ll be fun! Pleeeeeaaaase?” I gave him my best puppy eyes.

“Fred…” Wesley sounded choked. “I… it’s best if I go. Have a safe trip home, and a lovely evening and… and I hope that you feel better in the morning.”

Wesley turned to Angel. “Can you make sure she gets home alright?”

“Sure thing, Wes.”

This wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t Wesley do it? I wanted to be with Wesley!

“And make sure there’s water by her bed, and aspirin. And that you lock the door on your way out, and-”

“Wes. I got it.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Fred.” Wesley said quietly, not looking at me over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Wes.” I sighed. “See you in the morning?”

“Count on it.” Wesley slowly walked over to the elevator and stepped inside. He didn’t turn to look at me once.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I walked through Angel’s office back towards the atrium, letting out a shaky breath. Delicious food. A wonderful, blissfully relaxing evening spent in the company of my closest friends - whom I valued more than anything, not that I’d ever tell them - as they gradually succumbed to varying levels of drunkenness. I’d forgotten how affectionate Fred became when she was drunk.

I hadn’t been ready for her cuddly, touchy-feely, very cute drunk persona. She’d been sweet, incredibly funny… and impossibly attractive. Leaping into my lap, leaning back against me - putting her lovely, soft hair in my face -, resting her head on my shoulder, _pouting_ at me and asking me to stay with her… I shuddered. It had been almost unbearable. If I’d spent even a few more minutes in there, I might have done something foolish, stupid, wrong, and completely out of line with what Fred wanted. She was just drunk.

It hadn’t meant anything to her. I was just her friend. I would have to call Angel once I was home, make sure he’d got her home alright. I wasn’t the appropriate person to take care of Fred tonight, because of my… the way I felt. About her. Besides, I’d already promised to help out someone else.

“Sam?” I resisted the ridiculous urge to knock on the door of my own office as I stepped in. 

“Hey!” Sam waved at me from where she was sitting on the edge of the desk, fiddling determinedly with her hair. Which had found its way into a very fetching ponytail since I’d last seen her. “How was the dinner?”

“It was lovely.” I smiled as I rounded the desk, swiping my jacket off the back of my chair and shrugging into it. “It’s good to relax sometimes. Especially with them. We’ve all been very busy.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you away from dinner with your friends…” Sam sounded guilty as she looked over her shoulder at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to-”

“As I already explained,” I grinned. “We were wrapping up anyway. Besides, it would be beastly of me to abandon you here with no transport after you worked so hard on Nina’s case.”

Sam snorted. “Worked so hard on her case? I was such a screwup. I didn’t realise Dr Royce was evil, I couldn’t stop Nina being abducted… I was a liability the whole time.”

“We all make mistakes.” I shrugged. “Sam, do you need a hand with the ponytail?”  
“Oh, if you don’t mind.” Sam blushed furiously. “I… I put the hairband on too tight and now I’ve made an awful mess of it.”

“It doesn’t look messy.” I mused, stepping up behind her and beginning to untangle the hair band. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“Absotively.” Sam nodded, ponytail catching me in the face. I would have minded if her hair wasn’t silky soft or didn’t smell delightfully fruity. “No other fair way to do this. Besides, I always wanted to try it when I was younger…”

“Really?” I removed the hairband and dropped it into her lap, walking over to the box of my belongings in the corner of my office. “I can’t quite imagine that.”

“Are you saying you think I was _boring?”_ There was a note of challenge in Sam’s voice now and I chuckled as I bent over to retrieve the item.

“Not at all, Sam. I just… don’t think of it as your cup of tea.”  
“It was mainly the leather.” Sam admitted, moving to peer over my shoulder. “I thought I’d look good in it.”

“I’d have to agree.” I straightened up, resisting the urge to confirm her obviously-correct opinion by examining her lovely figure. “But not as good as you’ll look in this.” I tossed it to her.

She caught it and smiled widely at me, one eyebrow quirking up. “Hot pink?” She lifted up the motorcycle helmet. “Really?”

“And?” I retrieved my own black helmet from the box and started walking towards the carpark.

“Nothing.” Sam looked like she was struggling not to laugh. 

“I long for the days when this fine institution liquified people for displaying attitude like that.” I sighed faux wistfully. Sam giggled and punched my shoulder as we stepped into the elevator.

“Pig.” She grinned at me.

“Hurtful.” I put on my helmet and struck a dashing pose. Sam almost collapsed in a fit of giggles, bracing herself against the wall of the elevator.

“Oh, God, my ribs hurt!” Sam laughed. “But… a pink helmet? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, genuinely mystified.

“I just… Were you planning on picking up dates with your motorcycle when you got this?” Sam began to put the helmet on.

“And if I was?” I grinned.

“The word ‘delusional’ does leap to mind…” Sam finished pulling the helmet on and looked over at me, eyes sparkling with mirth like twin emeralds.

“Well, I hate to break it to you.” I smiled and tapped her nose through the open visor. “But I think you’ll find I _just_ used my motorcycle to pick up a beautiful woman _and_ she’s wearing the pink helmet.”

“Oh but I…. I mean we’re not… you just offered… I was only asking… just a lift home…” I walked out into the garage, turning away from a blushing and babbling Sam. I wonder if she had any idea how cute she was when she did that? Probably not.

“I’m sorry, but did my spare motorcycle helmet directly result in me picking up a beautiful woman tonight?” I smirked at Sam.

She was still blushing. “I mean if I… if I _count _as beautiful… then I suppose yes.”

“Glad to hear it.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “And for the avoidance of doubt, you count.” What little I could see of Sam’s face almost matched her helmet at that point. I was perhaps being ever so slightly cruel, teasing Sam like this. But she made it so much fun.

She was so much fun to be around.

I settled myself down on the motorbike and started the engine. “Are you going to hop on?” I smiled reassuringly at Sam, flipping down my visor. Sam nodded, squaring her jaw and flipping down her own visor before tentatively sitting down behind me on the bike. 

“What do I need to do?” Sam asked nervously.

“Scoot up behind me, and hold on tight. I promise I’ll take it easy.” Sam followed my advice swiftly and zealously, almost moulding herself against my back and wrapping her arms tightly around my torso. I felt a ridiculous shiver pass through me.

Followed by an equally ridiculous urge to show off.

“Ready to go?”

One gloved thumbs-up answered my question. I gunned the engine, and started going. Sam yelped at the first corner we took and squeezed me even tighter. I laughed, keeping the speed steady for a few minutes until we hit our first red traffic light.

“How are you doing?” I asked, keeping my eyes forward.

“I’m good!” Sam sounded eager. I felt her shift slightly on the seat, worming herself slightly more firmly against me. Still a bit nervous then. A distant part of me registered how warm she was, even through several layers. “Can I ask a favour? Maybe two?”

“Another?” I kept my voice playful. “Would you like me to slow down a little?”

“Not quite.” A brief pause, then a whisper. “Speed up. And take the long way home?”

I grinned and revved the engine as the light went amber. “My pleasure.”

The rest of the ride home was very enjoyable. Zipping between busy roads and sneaky shortcuts, taking corners as tight as it was safe to do so (because no matter how much Sam was enjoying herself, I wasn’t risking her safety) and going as fast as I could down the straights as Sam urged me on. I had no idea how long I spent driving.

I braked to a stop outside Sam’s building and switched off the engine, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. I was almost shaking with adrenaline. I felt… so very alive. Sam slowly unwrapped her arms then leapt to her feet, tugging the pink helmet forcefully off her head. I removed my own. Sam was slightly flushed, breathing heavily, and her eyes were bright. “That was amazing!” She laughed. She looked almost ready to start jumping on the spot. Her whole body coiled with energy, hair very attractively windswept… 

I couldn’t help but think that she would have looked _very, very_ good in leather right now. “Thank you!” Sam smiled broadly at me.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I returned her smile. “Not bad for a first time?”

“_Amazing!”_ Sam almost squealed. “Like a rollercoaster!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m very happy to have been of assistance.”

Sam looked hesitant for a moment. She chewed her lip for a second, then swallowed and smiled shyly. “You know, my car’s still gonna be in the shop tomorrow morning…”

I raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the urge to smirk. “Oh, it will be?”

“Most definitely. So…”

“So?”

“Would you mind giving me a lift tomorrow morning?” Sam clasped her hands together. “On the bike?”

“Hmm…” I rubbed my chin as if thinking.

“Come on!” Sam laughed, closing the distance between us with a step. “Pretty please?”

“Oh, well,” I smiled, letting go of the charade that I could possibly have refused Sam this when she’d clearly had so much fun. “If it’s a _pretty_ please, then my hands are tied, aren’t they?”  
“Most definitely!” Sam grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll untie them so you can steer tomorrow morning.” I laughed.

“Oh, and, as a thank you…” Sam began fiddling with the visor on the helmet, gaze dropping for a second to her shoes. “Why don’t you come by a bit early tomorrow-”

“Up even earlier in the morning, what a treat.” I noted.

Sam pressed on, undaunted. “- and you can come in for a morning cup of tea and some breakfast?” She offered.

“That is very tempting.” 

“Well, consider this.” Sam smiled. “You know how the tea I make at the office tastes. Imagine how much better the tea I make with my own teapot, in my own home, with all my special supplies is?”

Tea made at work was famously horrible in most cases. And the tea Sam made at work was excellent. So at home…

“I’m in.” I smiled. “What time?”

“Seven-thirty?” Sam suggested. “That way, we can be in work early enough to deal with all the problems that have built up overnight.”  
I winced. “That’s a bit close to the mark.” 

“Sorry.” Sam grinned. “We’ll be in nice and early so we can have a nap before everyone else gets to work?”

“Now you’re talking like someone who doesn’t want to get liquified.” I winked.

Sam laughed and swatted my arm. “You are a _monster._”

I gasped, lurching backwards and placing one hand over my heart. “You wound me, fair lady.”

“My deepest condolences.” Sam was struggling very valiantly against her smile, but it just wasn’t going away. Which was fine by me. Sam had a very pretty smile. Especially with her eyes near luminous in the half-light.

“Goodnight, Wesley.” Sam stepped forwards and wrapped me in a hug. For a second I was too startled to respond. Then I hugged her back. I’d been able to accurately determine just how warm Sam was when she clung tightly to me all the long ride here. But I hadn’t been able to tell how soft her cheek was. And I was startled yet _again_ by the smell of her hair. 

“Goodnight Sam.” I squeezed her gently, on impulse. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams to you too.” Sam stood there a few seconds longer before disentangling herself, stooped to pick up her helmet and began backing away towards the door to her building. I began putting my helmet on which was a mistake, because it meant I almost missed Sam blowing me an enthusiastic kiss as she vanished from sight.

I felt my cheeks warm and looked around on instinct. Nobody there. Not that it would have mattered if I was there. Vaguely aware that I was grinning like an idiot, I flipped my visor back down and set off.

The experience wasn’t anywhere near as enjoyable without arms wrapped tightly around my torso, a warm body pressed up against my back, and a head resting on my shoulder.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Oh God, my head. 

Why?

I groaned loudly and kept my eyes closed, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my head, the sandpaper in my throat, and the gradually returning (highly embarrassing) memories of last night. I felt heat flood my face at the memory of my conversation with Wesley. A heat that only intensified when I remembered my drunk self had been thinking about _kissing_ him. Oh, God. I was never letting Lorne make me drinks again. 

I stretched my stiff limbs out, groaning as I did so. I needed water. And aspirin. 

And clothes. 

I slowly opened one eye, wincing as beams of sunlight stabbed at my sensitive eyes. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I blinked. This wasn’t my apartment. Nothing like my apartment. I struggled upright, hugging the duvet to my chest, trying desperately to remember going to bed last night. I was drawing a blank. Oh, God. Oh, God, what had I done?

I was reminded very unpleasantly of how stiff I felt. I swallowed and peered around the room. My clothes had been tossed haphazardly around the room. Along with my underwear. I swallowed. This could not be good. Clutching the duvet tighter against myself and trying (without success) to figure out what had happened (the last thing I remembered was being upset when Wesley left) last night. I shimmied back into myunderwear without dropping the duvet, and gingerly searched the bedroom for the rest of my clothes. Once I was dressed again (how had my skirt ended up _inside_ the lampshade?) I hesitantly made my way out the door. “Hello?” I called out nervously, moving into the next room. Wait. I recognised this place now. It was Angel’s apartment.

I stiffened. Why had I woken up naked in Angel’s bed? With my clothes tossed all over the room and…

Oh God. I hadn’t. Surely I hadn’t. I hadn’t been that drunk, had I? I couldn’t have… there was no way I could have done _that_ and not remembered. I mean especially with the curse and the… surely I hadn’t? I mean, honestly, given what I’d been thinking about and my general preferences, if I’d been going to end up doing _that_ with anyone while drunk it would logically be We-

Nope. I was stopping that train of thought. You go no further, train. “Angel?” 

There was a ping noise and I whirled around to see the elevator that led to Angel’s office opening. Angel swept into the room dramatically, putting down a tray with a glass of water and several plates of breakfast food. I swallowed.

“Morning, Fred.” Angel sat down on the sofa and smiled warmly. That wasn’t a warmer smile than normal, was it? It kind of looked warmer than normal. Gulp.

“Umm…” I swallowed, twisting some hair around my fingers. Oh, God. “What exactly… I mean… last night… why am I not at home? Why was I here? In your bed? All…”

“Not dressed?” Angel suggested. I swallowed and nodded. “We didn’t, if you were worrying.”

“Oh, thank God!” I gasped. Then I blushed. “Sorry.”

Angel chuckled and patted the sofa next to him. I sat down. “Have something to drink. And some breakfast. Start getting rid of that hangover.”

“I was really far gone, wasn’t I?” I said sheepishly.

“Way, way gone.” Angel nodded. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Wesley leaving.” I supplied.

“Well, you got most of it.” Angel nodded.

“That’s a relief.”

“Except as soon as he left, you started ranting.” Angel grinned. Oh dear. This sounded bad. “You were pacing around the room, throwing glasses, yelling about how Wesley was completely blind, and a tool, and how Sam was an-”

“I get the picture.” I mumbled, feeling my face and ears go bright red. “And then what?”

“Gunn cracked up laughing and went home, shaking his head. Lorne called a cab and stumbled out, talking about calling Johnny Depp.” Angel’s smile broadened. “At which point, I decided to try and get you home.”

“This story isn’t going to paint me in a positive light, by any chance?” I said hopefully. Angel shook his head. 

“At this point, you’d stopped full-on ranting and had started grumbling on the sofa, nursing a cosmo. I approached you to suggest it might be a good idea for you to go home, have some water, get some rest, and feel better in the morning. You protested that you were fine, and I told you that Wesley would want you to get home safe…” Angel trailed off.

“And?” I readied myself.

“You were not receptive to my suggestion.” Angel smirked. “You chose to go insane with rage, and attack me.”

I blinked. “Attack?”

“You threw things.” Angel nodded to the corner of the room, and I went bright red on seeing a large pile of swept up glass fragments. “And you called me a great many names, all of them hurtful. Or at least, you meant them to be.”

I tried very hard not to meet Angel’s gaze. 

“And, when that didn’t work, you yelled something unintelligible at me, slammed my bedroom door shut, stripped off, and crawled into bed.”

I frowned. “If I closed the door, then how did you know…”

“Vampire hearing.” Angel tapped one ear meaningfully. 

“Oh.” I was bright red at this point. “Please don’t ever let me drink alcohol again.”

Angel chuckled. “No promises.”

“Then please don’t tell anyone about this? Like, ever?” I smiled hopefully. “Pretty please?”

“That I can do.” Angel smirked.

“_Thank you.” _The pancakes were calling to me. Promising to fix my hangover. “Can I start-”

“Fred, eat.” Angel smiled, pushing the tray towards me. I ate quickly, even by my standards.

I guess I should get home.” I sighed after sating my rumbling stomach, eyeing my rumpled clothing. I sniffed myself experimentally and winced. Oh, God. I needed to get home, have a shower - make that _two_ showers - and get a change of clothes before I could even think about going to work. 

“Probably best.” Angel agreed. “Want me to drive you back? We can take one of my carpool…”

“Eager as I’m sure you are for an excuse to make use of your toys,” I smiled. “You have work to do. And I’m much too tired to drive myself home. Can you call me a car, and I’ll make my way down to the main carpark?”

“Sure.” Angel nodded. “What’s the address?”

“511 Windward Circle.” I stood up and stretched, groaning again. “Thanks.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I can’t believe we just get to drive past all the morning traffic!” Sam gushed as the elevator doors pinged open. 

“It’s a wonderful thing.” I shouldered my bag and tightened my grip on my helmet. “Did you see the look that van driver gave us?”

“Oh my God!” Sam laughed, trying to neaten her windswept hair. “He looked ready to kill you.”

“I imagine he’d been waiting in that traffic jam quite a while.” I mused. “And then we just…”

“Drove straight past him.” Sam giggled. I smiled at her fondly. Sam shook her head, eyes returning to mine. Then she gasped and waved at someone over my shoulder. “Hi, Fred!”

I turned around. Fred was standing like a rabbit in the headlights, halfway between Angel’s office and the elevators. She looked slightly dishevelled. I suppose she must have had a busy morning. Lots of hard work. Even by Fred’s standards, she was in early. “Good morning, Fred.” I smiled and inclined my head.

“Oh! Morning!” Fred’s eyes darted to the elevators, then back to us. A slight frown creased her face, glancing between Sam’s hair and the helmet clutched in her hand.

“I gave Sam a lift to work today.” I explained. “Her car is still out of commission.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking advantage.” Sam smiled encouragingly. Fred looked like she was about to choke on something before Sam continued. “He got some very lovely tea out of it.”

“Oh, God,” I murmured, closing my eyes to better reminisce. “That tea was _divine._” The motorcycle journey with the beautiful woman wrapped around me hadn’t been too shabby either.

“That’s nice.” Fred said weakly, looking over to the elevators again. I guess she had a lot of work to be getting on with.

“Busy morning?” I asked sympathetically, eyeing her rumpled clothing…

Which looked faintly similar to last night’s clothing. And her hair looked almost as messy as Sam’s did, which was strange seeing as the latter had just experienced a long motorcycle journey and the former almost certainly hadn’t.

Sam frowned and wrinkled her nose, turning to face me. “Wesley, do you smell-”

“See you later!” Fred waved goodbye and sprinted away like her life depended on it. 

I refocused on Sam. “Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing.” Sam breathed in again and shrugged. “I thought I smelled something.”

“Maybe one of our shamans got a spell wrong.” I mused, walking into my office and putting away both our helmets. “Speaking of which, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Well,” Sam took her customary seat across my desk from me and I sat down in my own chair, hanging my jacket across the back. “First things first, one of the banks is looking for you to make sure that their investments show a good return this quarter. I think a standard prosperity ritual would be good, the relevant tributes, just to make sure that…”

I looked over the rest of my agenda with Sam. We had another full day of working side-by-side ahead of us. Busy (of course), but today’s work looked engaging. Intriguing, even. A fascinating set of problems to solve together. I frowned for a moment, perplexed.

At what point had I started _enjoying_ my job at Wolfram and Hart?


	4. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping Spike out of hell demands closer collaboration, and invites terrible danger.

**Fred**

“Ahh!” I screamed, dropping the papers I was carrying on the floor of the lobby. 

Spike looked singularly unimpressed. “How long did you know I was there?” He sighed.

Guess my acting skills needed work. I frowned: not _everyone_ had had time to attend acting classes in college! Some people were doing work, and having fun, and… 

Doing work, mostly.

“Just since the lobby.” I confessed. “But that popping up behind me was really scary. Look, I dropped my papers.” I knelt down to pick them up off the floor of the lab.

“Nice touch.” Spike remarked bitterly.

“Thanks.” I smiled.

“I’d give you a hand with those,” Spike gestured to my notes. “But…” He waved his hand through some of the lab equipment for emphasis.

“Still no interaction?” I frowned.

“Not a twinge.” Spike sighed. “Can't spirit the knickknacks about. Can't willie the locals. Bloody sad ghost I turned out to be.”

“I’ve told you before you’re not a ghost.” A tiny scowl slipped onto my face, unbidden. “Ghosts don’t have souls, and you do. As I was so _pleasantly_ and _helpfully_ informed. You’re more than a spectre… something unique, in fact.”

“Bet you say that to all the spirits.” Spike smiled weakly as I started to scan him.

I checked the readings. Not good news. “Oh, your radiant heat signature’s dropped another point zero zero two degrees.”

“Thought it was a bit nippy.” Spike murmured.

“Is everything…” I looked at Spike questioningly. “Are you… alright?”

“Tug of eternal damnation’s been weaker this last week at least.” Spike smiled hesitantly. “The bit of mojo Sam worked made my little trips to the netherworld shorter, and a bit less frequent. Still not pleasant when I do go there.”

“That’s good.” I forced a smile, trying not to dwell on memories of windswept golden hair cascading over slender shoulders, flashing green eyes, a shy smile, and a pink motorcycle helmet. Despite my best efforts, an unpleasant hot feeling curled itself in my stomach. “That’s great. Should give me the time I need to find a permanent, meaningful solution.” I turned away from Spike to begin reviewing the latest data, chewing on my lip as I worked. Spike was my priority right now. He was what I had to focus on.

“Err… pet.” Spike coughed and stepped up next to me. I turned to face him and raised one eyebrow. Spike looked hesitant. “Listen… I might be desperate… but I’m not a selfish bastard.”

“What do you mean?” I tilted my head.

“Well… you’ve been…” Spike blew out a gust of air. It was funny that he did that, seeing as how he didn’t breathe. Must be psychological. Although he didn’t have a brain either, technically. Double weird. “You’ve been looking a bit glum lately, Fred.”

“What do you mean?” I smiled reassuringly, turning back to my notes. “I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ.” Spike grimaced. “You’ve been working yourself day and night. Moping around the lab. Almost never smiling except when you’re trying to make me feel better. You were a bubbly, happy thing when I first met you, pet. You’ve been neither of those things recently.” 

“I’m fine.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m just busy, Spike. A month and a half ago I was one girl with a microscope and some slides, now I’m running an entire lab complex! I’ve been a busy little bee.”

“You’ve been a busy overworked little bee by choice.” Spike said meaningfully, folding his arms. “Throwing yourself into every project that comes up with gusto, like you’re trying to keep your mind off something.”

That was ridiculous! I wasn’t trying to keep my mind off of anyone, I was just-

“Or off of _someone_.” Spike raised an eyebrow. I felt my cheeks warm. That was just nonsense. I wasn’t trying to keep my mind off Wesley, that was ridiculous, I was just… busy.

“Look,” Spike held up both hands. “I just wanted to make absolutely sure that you’re not glum because you’ve got me hanging over you like a dead vampire? Because if it is then, I could, y’know be somewhere else most of the time. Keep out of your way, rather than lingering in the background, a constant demand on your time and resources, guilting you into working harder? Just show up when you need me, rather than-”

Oh, he was worried that he was the reason I’d been glum. Not that I was glum. Just busy. Overworked. There were no other reasons. It was sweet of him. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Trust me. You’re good company.” 

“When I’m not making you drop your papers?” Spike grinned.

“Yeah, apart from those times.” I smiled back.

“Seriously though, pet.” Spike’s eyes became serious. “I got pretty good at reading you smart types while I was with the Scoobies. You like to be independent, and you bottle up what you’re feeling the same way you bottle up what you’re thinking. Not a good idea. Look, I’m just saying, whatever’s got you down… I’m here. I can listen.”

“Thank you, Spike.” I smiled warmly at him. “That’s very nice of you to offer.”

“I draw the line at being a shoulder to lean on, though.” Spike grinned mischievously. “Wouldn’t want to make you fall over.”

I giggled. Then I frowned. I put down my papers and turned to face Spike. “I… I may have possibly been trying to take my mind off something.” I frowned. “Not you, but… but something.”

“Right.” Spike nodded attentively, eyes fixed on me.

“I’m worried about Wesley.” I confessed. I felt like a weight (just a small one) had been lifted off my shoulders. I kept going. “I’m worried that he’s letting his guard down, y’know? Letting Wolfram and Hart suck him in. That he’s beginning to trust the wrong people, and that this place is gonna get to him.”

“Fair worry.” Spike nodded thoughtfully. “Power corrupts, and all that. But why so worried about old Percy specifically? Your friend Gunn is in a lot deeper than he is, with the new brain, courtesy of some Dr Frankenstein. And Lorne is certainly throwing himself in with a lot of gusto. I mean, I haven’t seen him sleep in weeks.”

“Lorne’s running entertainment, that’s harmless. It’s totally his element too.” I sighed, rubbing my temples and trying to think. “Wes… he’s my best friend, and it feels like I hardly get to see him anymore. And I’m worried about the people he works with. The shamans, the mystics, the researchers… they’re a lot more dangerous than the lawyers, lab techs or style gurus.”

“Fair point.” Spike nodded, then frowned. “But you’re most worried about one person in particular, aren’t you?”

“He shouldn’t trust Sam.” I said quietly, looking at Spike imploringly. “I don’t know what her game is, and I can’t figure it out no matter how much I try! I don’t know how she fooled Lorne’s reading - because it can’t be Calendula, I did a timed experiment and everything - and I don’t know what she has planned, and I don’t know what Wesley has to do with it.”

Spike nodded. “Look… are you sure that the reason you don’t like Sam is because you think she’s evil?”

“She is evil.” I insisted. “And she’s got him fooled, and she’s working her way into his good graces.”

“Look, Fred.” Spike sighed. “Am I allowed to be brutally honest with you?”

“Go ahead.” I crossed my arms.

“Promise you won’t abandon me to eternal damnation for saying this?”

“I promise.”

“Alright.” Spike nodded. “Look, there’s another reason you don’t like Sam, why this whole situation is eating you up, why you’ve been glum, and why you haven’t figured any of this out with your bright little noggin.”

“Which is?” I frowned.

“The fact is,” Spike moved to lean back against the lab bench. He fell through it with a yelp, disappearing into the floor. I blinked.

“Spike?” I called out hesitantly. No response. That was worrying. And also very unhelpful.

  
What had he been about to say? Guess I’d have to find out later. In the meanwhile, I had some books to fetch. Or rather, some books that I would have to ask Wesley to ask someone else to fetch. Assuming he was still in the office. Hopefully he was. I snatched up my clipboard and made to leave.

I caught sight of my reflection in the door and winced. God, my hair was a mess. I could afford a quick stop by my office. Spike might come back in the interim too, which would be nice. I quickly dragged a comb through my hair to neaten out the worst tangles, touched up some of my makeup and straightened my glasses. Still no Spike. Guess it was time to head up.

The office was pretty empty tonight. The only person I ran into on my way to Wesley’s office was Lorne, and he was talking on the phone as I walked by, so we restricted ourselves to little waves as we passed by. Wesley’s office door was closed. That was unusual, he normally left it open. I shrugged internally and was lifting one hand to rap on the door when I heard voices from inside.

Sam’s voice, a low murmur. Curious-sounding. “Surely a man of your skills… your experience _must_ have tried this.”

“I haven’t, I swear!” Wesley. I frowned. What hadn’t he tried?

“But you’d like to.” Sam’s voice was quiet, but very matter-of-fact. 

“I mean… yes, but…”

“Then why wait?” I could have sworn my heart was beating faster, which was ridiculous. What on Earth were they talking about?

“I mean… you shouldn’t… it isn’t… appropriate.” Wesley was stammering. He sounded embarrassed. I frowned. “Not here. Not now."

“Just let go for once.” Sam giggled. “You don’t have to be embarrassed for trying it out. Come on!” Surely she wasn’t…. I mean… they couldn’t be…

“Oh… alright, fine. Just open wide.” Not in his office. And they weren’t that close, there’s no way Wesley would…

“This enough?” I mean, with _Sam?_

“_Wider_, please.” Wesley’s voice was calm now. Insistent. I felt an awful blush on my cheeks. What was happening? What was Wesley doing? What was Sam doing?

“So _demanding_.” Sam purred.

_What were they doing together??!!_

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Come on, seriously?” Sam looked genuinely surprised, scooting her chair up beside mine. We both ended up sitting on ‘my’ side of the desk more often than not lately, because trying to collaborate when we were sitting on opposite sides entailed either constantly passing pages back and forth or trying to read everything sideways (which was a pain when you were dealing with certain runic languages). I’d suggested the change a few days ago, and Sam had eagerly agreed.

“Not even once.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Surely a man of your skills…” Sam tilted her head, green eyes sparkling. “Your experience, must have tried this.”

“I haven’t, I swear!” I protested.

“But you’d like to.” Sam smiled, raising an eyebrow.

I swallowed. “I mean… yes, but…”

“Then why wait?” 

“I mean… you shouldn’t… it isn’t… appropriate” I said weakly. Not in the workplace. “Not here. Not now.”

“Just let go for once. You don’t have to be embarrassed for trying it out. Come on!”

“Oh… alright, fine. Just open wide.”

“This enough?” Sam opened her mouth.

“Wider, please.” The last thing I needed was to miss and make a mess.

“So demanding.” Sam grinned and opened her mouth wider.

I glanced at the text we were reading one more time, mentally rehearsed the instructions, and focused all my willpower on the chocolate biscuits Sam had brought along tonight. Painstakingly slowly, a trio of biscuits wobbled off the tray and rose unsteadily into the air. I narrowed my eyes, thinking of nothing but those biscuits, imagining them beginning to spin in a midair circle. They began to do so slowly, revolving gently over the table. Slowly, maintaining my focus, I turned to face Sam and willed the first biscuit to change direction. 

It slowly wobbled through the air and advanced slightly haphazardly into her mouth. She bit down and smiled at me gratefully. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead at the level of focus required to hold the biscuits midair. Sam finished chewing and opened her mouth again, raising one eyebrow. I fired the second one into her mouth much quicker and she reacted impressively fast, biting down almost as soon as it arrived. I flicked the last biscuit into my own mouth and ate it. I almost collapsed as a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I groaned loudly.

“Are you alright?” Sam rubbed my upper back tenderly. Damn, that felt amazing. “I didn’t mean to tire you out.”

“That’s my own fault.” I let out another groan, rolling my shoulders. “I really should have tried basic telekinesis before today, there was no good reason not to.”

I heard a sudden loud, rapid knocking on the door to my office. “Come in!” I called out, glancing up at my visitor. 

Fred advanced into the office, expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief, cheeks slightly flushed. Maybe she’d run up here from the lab. “Good evening, Wesley. Nice to see you.” Fred smiled slightly, brushing some hair out of her face. “Miss Jennings.”

“Good evening, Fred.” I smiled. 

Sam waved, then gasped. “Ooh, Fred, your hair looks lovely tonight.” I had to agree, from an objective and subjective point of view. It looked almost as if it had just been carefully combed, tumbling down around her shoulders in elegant… I cut myself off. I had to stop thinking about Fred that way. It was what she wanted.

I should move the conversation along, stop her becoming uncomfortable. “What can I do for you?” I asked, hot on the heels of Sam’s remark.

“I need these books. As soon as you can get them.” Fred handed over a list. “Please.”

I held it over so Sam could inspect it as well. She still leaned forward to get a slightly better view - I suppose the light was relatively dim in here, and it wouldn’t do for Sam to mis-read anything, much better to play it safe - and I tried to avoid a shiver as those increasingly familiar long golden tresses came to rest on the front of my chest. 

It was with a great effort of will that I resisted the urge to breathe in, to experience the delightful scent of Sam’s hair again. 

“The Magdalene Grimoire, Necronomicon des Mortes…” I raised an eyebrow. Some very advanced, very rare texts here. The darkest of the dark arts.

"Hochstadter's Treatise on Fractal Geometry in 12-dimensional Space!” Sam exclaimed, having got slightly further down the list than me. “I can’t believe you haven’t read that yet, Fred, it’s great! One of my favourites.”

“Oh.” Fred said. “Really?”

“It’s fantastic.” Sam gushed. “Fascinating, really. The chapter on fragmented-”

“How fast can I get ‘em?” Fred turned to me, removing her glasses. Sam looked slightly put out. I was sure that ordinarily, Fred would have loved to chat with Sam about all things scientific, but clearly she was in a hurry. Maybe we could all meet up later to discuss it.

Once I’d had a chance to read the book myself, of course. I was already behind both of these two in terms of raw brainpower, there was no way I was going to enter into a discussion without intimate knowledge of the source material. And some prepared remarks.

“Half of these are antiquities of the rarest order.” I left a short pause. “If I exploit every connection I’ve made as the head of research and Intelligence, and draft the assistance of my most skilled colleague…” Sam beamed next to me, flushing ever so slightly at the praise.

“About fifteen minutes.” I smiled confidently. 

“Great.” Fred smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. Something had definitely been bothering Fred recently… but I couldn’t figure out for the life me _what._ “Please let me know when they’re in.” 

Fred turned around and started walking for the door. “Under one condition.” I sat forward in my chair.

Fred spun round to face me at the door, one eyebrow shooting up. I answered the unspoken question. “Dinner.”

I heard two simultaneous intakes of air from the fellow occupants of the room. Fred’s eyes widened slightly. Sam looked even more shocked. Damn, I hadn’t been clear, that had sounded better in my head, I hadn’t been trying to- 

“Oh, I, umm…” Fred looked shocked.

Dammit, this was all wrong. “I meant you, having one, a real one.” I clarified. A look of understanding washed over both of them. Sam had probably been very confused, given the amount of times I’d had to explain in my opening weeks here that Fred and I weren’t… a couple, and never had been. I raised an eyebrow. “When's the last time you had anything besides day-old takeout? Or had more than a nap up in your lab?”

I might not be spending much time with Fred, but when I had she’d been distant. Unfocused. More than usual. And she definitely hadn’t been taking good care of herself. Not all week. She was working herself much too hard. To be fair, we all were, but at least I had Sam to help me through it. Fred didn’t seem to have the same easy camaraderie, the instant connection, with Dr Sill. Making sure she went home early at least one evening and ate a proper meal, got a decent night’s rest… that was my duty as a friend. 

“I’m okay, really.” Fred smiled reassuringly. Hmm. Not buying it.

Evidently, neither was Sam. “He’s right, Fred.” Sam offered, smiling sympathetically. “I know what it’s like starting out here, the urge to work and work and work, but you have to remember to take care of yourself Fred. I mean, not that you… I don’t mean to suggest that you don’t know how to take care of yourself, because I mean, obviously-”

“I _can_ look after myself, Miss Jennings.” Fred wasn’t smiling anymore, and her voice was distinctly chilly. Damn. I should have handled this more tactfully, in private, and now I’d only gone ahead and irritated Fred _again_, and Sam was taking the brunt of it. That wouldn’t do. “Fifteen minutes?” Fred looked at me, one eyebrow arching.

I nodded, resisting the urge to sigh.

“Thanks.” Fred smiled, and turned around. She immediately let out a shriek and took a step backwards, her clipboard falling to the floor. Eve had just materialised behind her.

“Hey.” The most-definitely-evil Liaison to the Senior Partners glanced around the room, shot Sam a wink, then smiled insincerely at Fred. “Got a sec?”

“Oh… umm… sure.” Fred nodded, bending down to retrieve her possessions. 

“Hey, Sam.” Eve’s smile warmed one-thousandth of a degree. “How’s things?”

“Oh, umm… good.” Sam nodded, biting her lip. “Just… researching.”

“Mmm.” Eve smirked. “Enjoy _researching_. Hope you enjoy it as much as she does, Wesley.”

I frowned, mystified, as Eve swept away, a disgruntled looking Fred following after her. “What was she on about?” I frowned, turning to Sam (who’d gone bright pink). “We run Research and Intelligence, of course we’d be _researching._”

“Oh, I think she was just being weird.” Sam mumbled, brushing her hair behind her shoulders. “Eve really gives me the creeps. She looks at me and… my skin crawls. Yeesh.”

“I’d listen to that feeling Sam.” I frowned. What on Earth had Eve been implying? “Now, where were we on this spell-work?”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Ahem. Um, I know it's been difficult going from a small detective agency to... running Wolfram & Hart.” Angel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eve nodded along, an expression of false sympathy plastered on her face. I wonder if Wolfram and Hart had an academy somewhere teaching young, blond, women who were going to work here how to act insincerely? Her and Sam had it down pat.

Although, admittedly, Sam was much better at pretending to be genuine when the need called for it…

“And we've all been adjusting, but…” Angel looked deeply uncomfortable. 

It was so sweet that Angel was worried about me. But I was fine. Wesley had already beaten him to it, anyway. I’d save him the embarrassment. “It’s okay, Wes just gave me the talk.” I smiled reassuringly. “And I'm going to have a good meal and at least 6 hours of sleep, so everybody can just stop worrying. I'm fine. Really.” Or at least, I would be once I found Spike and he told me what was apparently getting me down, the secret about Sam. And also once I saved his life.

I wonder what the secret was. Spike had figured it out, probably because he tended to chat to Sam when I was busy. Apparently she was always asking him questions about his life, his unlife, and his exploits. She seemed to really cheer him up. I had no idea why she was scheming to butter up an incorporeal ghost… unless he was crucial to Wolfram and Hart’s strategy…

“Good.” Angel smiled awkwardly. “That’s…” He trailed off, glancing over at Eve, then down at his desk.

“Actually there’s some concern about…” He mumbled, looking up from the desk. “… how much the Practical Science department has been spending.”

“Oh. Umm…” I guess only Wesley had noticed something was a _tiny_ bit off with me. Which was to be expected I suppose, I mean Wesley knew me best out of everybody here, and he’d always been able to predict my moods. It was kind of like a sixth sense, really, the way he seemed to know _just _what I was thinking, or what I needed. “Yeah, I guess I may have gone over my projections by a few-”

“Eight-hundred-thousand dollars.” Eve said primly, stepping forwards. Wow. Eight-hundred… thousand. Oh fishsticks. How many fish sticks could eight-hundred thousand dollars buy? “That’s how much you’ve exceeded your _quarterly_ budget.” Eve sat down on the front of Angel’s desk and gave me a look. “And the quarter ain’t over yet, sweetie.”

Oh, I wish Wesley was here. He’d be able to explain this much better than me. Why couldn’t they understand that I was trying something that was on the cutting edge of science, I needed rare materials, specialised equipment, and that was on top of the regular day-to-day work, overtime for my staff and… it all added up! “Look, I, I know it sounds like… I mean, it _is_ a lot of money…” Oh God, this was already going terribly. Why couldn’t there be a phone-a-friend button? “But I’m trying to do something that’s never been done before. So, yeah, attempting to recorporealise Spike is gonna cost-”

“Woah!” Angel held up both hands, looking panicked. “Trying to do _what?”_

Oh, Lord, I was so confused. I definitely needed more sleep. And coffee. And for Sam to go away. “Make Spike… corporeal again like you asked?” I said hesitantly.

“Um, no.” Angel frowned. “What I asked for was for you to try to find a way to get Spike _out_ of Wolfram & Hart.”

Get rid of him? But then we were back to smashing the amulet and sending him to… consigning him to… No. No way.

“Angel!” I stood up, putting down my clipboard firmly. Time to take a stand. “We accepted the offer to take over the L.A. Branch of an evil, multi-dimensional law firm because we thought we could make a difference. Use the resources of Wolfram & Hart to do something decent.” If I had to work for an evil company, day-after-day, interacting with unspeakably evil, malevolent people - like Sam - then I was damn well going to do some good in the process!

“And how does that have anything to do with Spike?” Angel pouted.

“He just saved the world.” I pointed out. “Vampire with a soul fighting for the good of humanity. Ring anything? He's just like you, a champion.” He was worth saving, same as anyone else.

Angel frowned and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. God, he could be such a child when it came to Spike. “God, I really hate that word.” Angel glowered.

“Think of what an asset he’d be fighting on our side.” I pointed out.

“Except he won't be. I know Spike better than anyone, and he only cares about himself.” Angel kept glowering.

Oh. Now I got it. “And Buffy.” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, this is getting interesting.” Eve smirked at Angel.

“You're right. He does care about Buffy.” Angel paused. “So, where do you think he's gonna run off to as soon as his fresh, new feet hit the ground?”

“Is _that_ what this is about?” This was unbelievable. He was going to abandon Spike to nothingness because he was worried about him and Buffy? “You're afraid he's gonna come back and try to get with your ex again?”

It was crazy. That Angel could be so immature, judge somebody so harshly, paint them with the worst kind of brush, publicly denounce them as despicable and evil, over somebody he’d chosen not to be with? It was so childish. I’d never do something like that.

“I just want you to be careful, Fred.” Angel dodged the question surprisingly well. “Because I know how _charming_ Spike can be.” Oh, please. Like I was the lovesick one? Give me a break. Spike wasn’t even my type!

“He is quite the dish.” Eve turned to me, smirk widening. “With those eyes…”

I mean, sure, Spike had above average eyes. But they weren’t exceptional. Nothing like Wesley’s. And regardless, that was ridiculous! Who did they think I was? “And the hair, and the cheeks…” I deliberately adopted a silly persona for the first few words, then swapped back to normal tones. “And what do you think I am, stupid? I know he’s been trying to play me with the looks and the smiles. I’m not some lovesick schoolgirl with a crush.”

“Not on Spike, at least…” Eve winked.

What was that supposed to mean? I didn’t have a _crush._ I was a grown, very grownup adult. I had a job, and responsibilities, and a _clipboard_. I did not get crushes. No matter how nice their eyes might be.

“Then what is it?” Angel asked.

“It's about doing what's right.” I paused. “Remember?” Angel had so much trouble where Spike was concerned. That much baggage couldn’t be healthy.   
“Your department.” Angel leaned back in his chair. “Your call. Just don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. Some people… can’t be saved.” He was wrong. I had to believe that.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I frowned, tapping my pen on the paper. I subconsciously directed the biscuit to float into Sam’s mouth while I pondered the spell-detailing. That second line was definitely superficial. I crossed it out, and looked over the rest of the piece critically. Was there anything else that needed correcting…

“You’re getting to be a dab hand at that.” Sam remarked, flashing me a smile before she returned to her own project.

“Spell-detailing or biscuit-feeding?” 

“Telekinesis.” Sam rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “Biscuit-feeding doesn’t really do ‘moving objects carefully with your mind’ justice. And you were always good at spell detailing.”

“Not as good as you.” I replaced one of the words on my sheet absently, and Sam snorted disbelievingly. “And, yes, it was impressive, wasn’t it? Today, lifting biscuits with my mind. Tomorrow, world domination.”

Sam giggled and rolled her eyes. “And you tell me I’m the one who needs to have more confidence in myself?” She raised an eyebrow, green eyes sparkling with challenge.

“You definitely should.” I sipped my tea thoughtfully. “Your tea-making skills are second-to-none.”

“Well, I don’t think we can say that yet.” Sam frowned. “You haven’t made me tea.”

“I most definitely have.” I frowned indignantly. “I make you tea every day! You do the first morning teapot, then I brew the tea for the mid-morning break. And I make some tea for us most evenings. How dare you.”

“Those don’t count, they were made at work.” Sam shrugged, looking back to her work. “I mean… we both know tea made at home tastes much better.”

“That is true.” I admitted, thinking fondly of the tea Sam had made me when I’d first stopped by on my way to take her to work earlier this week. “The tea you make at home is heavenly. Like ambrosia.”

“And, like I said, I haven’t got to try the tea _you_ make at home yet.” Sam pointed out, eyes glued to her piece of paper. A distant part of me noted that her pen hadn’t moved for quite a while.

“Well, that won’t do at all.” I frowned. “Would you like to come over sometime? Try some tea? I could attempt to cook something, while I’m at it. I can’t promise it’ll be good, but-”

“That sounds great!” Sam beamed at me. I completely lost track of what I was saying. I was overwhelmed by her smile. Sam looked so beautiful when she smiled. Green eyes shining. “What day works for you?” Sam leaned in, smile staying right where it was.

“Umm…” I tried to refocus myself. Which was challenging, because Sam’s smile was very distracting. It was very hard, when looking at Sam’s smile, to focus on anything but her perfect green eyes, that cute button nose, the joy in her eyes… It was even harder to try to look _away_ from Sam’s smile. I decided to focus on her eyes. It was too late for dinner tonight. regrettably. When was the soonest I could possibly do? “Tomorrow?” I said hesitantly.

My heart was beating faster all of a sudden. I was filled with an irrational fear that Sam would say ‘no’. Which was ridiculous, because we’d just agreed to do this under a minute ago, and she had no reason to say ‘no’ all of a sudden. And it was just _tea_, we were just establishing once and for all that she was the better tea maker, it wasn’t like she was coming over to my place to-

“Perfect.” Sam’s smile widened. “Would you be alright to drive me back to your place from work?”

“Of course. Motorbike?”

“Naturally.” Sam replied. “Do you think you’d be able to pick me up tomorrow morning too, so I wouldn’t have to leave my car here overnight?”

“I can do that.” I nodded.

“Thanks.” Sam flushed slightly, not looking away. “And maybe um, since you’re doing me dinner and tea in the evening, when you come by in the morning I could whip you up some breakfast?”

“You don’t have to.” I smiled. “I have plenty of supplies at my place, there’s no need to-”

“Wesley,” Sam’s hand shot out to rest on top of my hand on the desk. I was finding it very hard to focus again. That is, focus on anything but the warmth of her hand, the smoothness of her skin, the smile on her face… “Please let me make you breakfast?” Sam smiled hopefully, eyes wide and pleading.

Oh, God. She could have asked for anything, and I would have said yes. I could never have refused those eyes anything. “Sure.” I blinked. Sam’s smile grew even wider - how was she doing that, it had looked as wide as it could get a second ago - and _squeezed_ my hand.

“Thank you.” Sam kept smiling. Everything felt different. The air felt electrically charged, somehow. My heart was hammering in my chest. I could feel the blood rushing in my veins.

Spike walked in through the nearest wall, hands clasped behind his back. “So, what’s on the ‘genda? Rousting a nest of venomous retirement plans?” Sam’s hand shot away from mine. The electric charge vanished. I felt a sudden unpleasant pang of loss, and frowned at Spike.

I felt very _cross_ all of a sudden. “Spike.”

“Good evening, Spike.” Sam waved.

“Evening, pet.” Spike flashed Sam a rakish grin and I felt a sudden urge to punch him. “How’s tricks?”

“Tricks are fine.” Sam shrugged, glancing at me. “I’d say tricks are fine. Been a nice productive day.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “The evening _was_ going _very_ pleasantly.” I saw Sam smile out of the corner of my eye.

“Aren’t you two here a bit late?” Spike asked nonchalantly, flopping down onto one of the chairs. I’d have asked him to leave if I thought there was the slightest chance he’d listen. Or at least sit up straight. “Shouldn’t you be off home, drinking tea, reading books, and whatever else it is you two do to relax?”

“Well, you see, Spike.” I leaned forwards, steepling my fingers on the desk. “We have these wonderful things called ‘jobs’, that require us to complete certain tasks. And we stay here until those tasks are done.”

“God, is he always this dull?” Spike flashed another grin at Sam and I felt like my blood was boiling. The urge to grab that amulet, go to the nearest graveyard, and bludgeon it repeatedly with a hammer had never been stronger.

“You have a very strange definition of the word dull.” Sam frowned. “He heads up a department dedicated to solving ancient mysteries, identifying mythic artefacts, analysing and designing complex spells… and he’s the _best_ at it. Really, _really_ not dull. I’d go so far as to say cool.” Sam shot me a nervous smile, cheeks slightly pink. “Not that I was ever _cool_ or anything, so I’m in no position to judge…”

“I’d have to disagree. On two counts.” I turned to Sam, ignoring Spike as best I could. “Firstly, you’re at least as good as me at what we do. Secondly, you are very cool.”

“That second one is definitely a lie.” Sam grinned, propping her chin up on one hand.

“You’re the deputy head of a department dedicated to solving ancient mysteries, identifying mythic artefacts, as well as analysing and designing complex spells.” I pointed out. “And you ride a motorbike to work almost every other day.”

“I just sit on the back.” Sam protested. “That’s not cool.”

“The pink helmet closes the deal.” I smirked. Sam thumped me on the arm and giggled.

“Alright I get the bleeding picture.” Spike held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Percy’s not boring, you’re not boring. Duly bloody noted.”

“Too bloody right.” Sam smiled. “How’s your tricks?”

Spike hesitated. “Could be a little better, honestly. Umm… Sam?”

“Spike?” Sam looked quizzical. I continued working as best as I could, keeping one ear on the conversation. “What is it?”

“The err…” Spike glanced at me. “The mojo you did on me. To limit me popping off for spectral jaunts. It’s worn off.”

“Are you sure?” Sam frowned. When had Sam helped Spike? “The essence localisation spell I performed should have induced a permanent concentration of your being. What makes you think it’s wearing off?”

“The vanishings. They’re worse than ever.” Spike looked torn, glancing between me and Sam. “Do you two know where Fred is?”

I really couldn’t understand what Fred or Sam saw in Spike. Unless it was the godlike good looks, the easy confidence, swagger, wit, bravery, or heroism. It was probably those things, wasn’t it? 

“I think Eve wanted to talk to her.” Sam shrugged. “She’s probably in Angel’s office.”

“She ain’t.” Spike shook his head fervently. “Maybe she’s…” Spike trailed off, staring at an empty patch of ceiling above my desk.

“Spike?” I said slowly. “What is it?”

“Don’t you see it?” Spike almost whispered.

“See what?” Sam questioned, tilting her head.

“The spectres.” Spike gulped. “Oh, God.” He stumbled upright, face shifting into an expression of terror, pinwheeling away from us through the chair. “Stay away!” He almost sprinted into the atrium.

That couldn’t be good. “This seems like a good time to call Fred?” Sam suggested, swallowing.

“Are you sure we can’t just leave him?” I joked.

“Wesley!” Sam scolded, tone trying to be severe, but the cheeky (and very fetching) grin on her face undermining her. “No!”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Right now?” Wesley questioned, eyes narrowing.

“Yes!” Spike growled, pacing back and forth. “Right now, right here!”

He turned to yell at the empty air, near bellowing in rage. “Piss off! I’m trying to have a conversation here! Shut up!”

“Who’s he talking to?” Angel folded his arms, frowning.

“Ghosts.” Wesley’s gaze swept the room. “He’s been seeing them for the past couple of minutes. Firstly in my office… now out here.”

“He ran out in kind of a hurry…” Sam bit her lip, shifting slightly closer (putting herself in the indecently close range) to Wesley’s side and glancing around nervously. “They really spooked him.”

“But none of us can see them…” I frowned. That was weird.

“What do you mean, you can’t see them?” Spike demanded, eyes wide. “They’re everywhere! Coming out of the bleedin’ walls!”

Eve arrived, flanked by Charles. “We just checked with security.” He stated. 

“They do hourly sweeps with the mystics to secure against spectral intrusion.” Eve explained.

“How many are there? Exactly?” Sam kept looking around nervously. I don’t know why she was bothering, it was obvious none of us would be able to see anything.

“None.” Charles looked around. “Last sweep was ten minutes ago, Spike is the only non-corporeal in the building.”

“Check again!” Spike hissed, stumbling backwards away from something. He looked at me. “Make them check again!”

“I think we need to go to the lab.” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Spike, if I can-”

“No, they’re here! Something’s happening!” Spike let out a shuddering breath, then spun to look between me and Sam.

“You two, you have to help. Sam, you need to hold them off somehow, use some mojo to delay them. Fred, you have to use that perfect brain of yours to get me the hell out of-”

He vanished.

“Where’d he go?” Eve looked around.

“it’s okay, he does this sometimes.” Angel sighed.

I swallowed. Desperate times… “Sam, bring him back. Do the spell.”

“I… I can’t.” Sam stammered. “It was a one-time deal, to tether his essence, it should still be working, I can’t do it again.”

“We need to spread out.” I started looking around, trying to tamp down on my worry. Spike was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. “We just need to find him.”

One fruitless search later, I was standing in Wesley’s office. “Sam’s helping the mystics do their sweep.” Wesley announced, walking into the room. “Hopefully they can find Spike… and perhaps these other spirits he’s seeing.”

“You know, Angel has a point.” Charles frowned. “Spike has been vanishing more frequently. Give it twenty minutes and he’ll be popping up next to you in the bathroom, making cracks about your… am I the only one he does that to?”

Thankfully, Spike had never appeared next to me while I was in the bathroom. “I know he’s done this before, but you saw the way he was acting! Something’s different this time. He’s agitated, hallucinating…” I saw the look on Wesley’s face and moved to close down his train of thought. “He’s not crazy.” I folded my arms.

“This is a unique manifestation.” Wesley murmured, frowning and leaning back on his desk. “Dementia can’t be ruled out.”

“You don’t know what Spike’s dealing with, where he goes when he disappears.” Wesley turned to regard me critically,Spike hadn’t wanted people to know, but I had to tell Wesley now. Before it was too late. “He told me. It’s hell. He’s slipping into hell.”

“Kinda figured.” Charles shrugged. I blinked. He’d just… known. Already. Huh. And if he knew, Wes almost certainly-

“Of course.” Wesley frowned. “It’s regrettable but… former mass-murdering vampire, bound to an amulet which in turn is bound to an evil multi-dimensional corporation? The circumstances don’t lend themselves to a positive outcome.”

“There has to be something we can do.” I protested, turning to Wesley. “I’m doing everything I can with the science, I _know_ I’m close to figuring this out, can you… you must be able to buy me a little more time!”

“If Sam already bound and localised his essence…” Wesley exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. Then he frowned. “Actually, if his essence is localised there are some possibilities… I’d need to check my books, but if we could find where Spike was, I could try superimposing him onto a different sub-dimensional layer, slow down the rate of decay, perhaps even stabilise his condition.”

I felt a relieved smile battle its way onto my face. “I knew you’d have a solution.” I hesitated. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you in sooner. Spike was pretty adamant that I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

“No harm done.” Wesley shrugged, smiling slightly. “We run our own ships. Besides, if Sam was on the case, Spike was in the best possible hands regardless.” It was with a great effort of will that I maintained my smile.

“You said we need to find Spike for you to work the mojo.” Charles frowned. “How are we supposed to do that when we can’t see or hear him?”

Wesley hesitated. “I have an idea.”

“Am I not gonna like it?” I frowned.

“I’m not even sure I like it…” Wesley muttered, walking over to his desk and picking up the phone. He dialled and waited. “Sam? Did you find him on your sweep? Damn. No, don’t apologise, I don’t think a standard sweep could have found him at this point.” Wesley smiled crookedly and I felt an odd flash of unpleasant, prickly heat run over me. “Yes, of course I have a plan. Can you get to Angel’s office, as quick as you can?”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?” Fred frowned at me from her seat next to mine, fingers tapping on the conference table. “I mean… it’s just…”

“You think?” Gunn chuckled from across the conference table. “Seen enough horror flicks to know seances always turn out ugly.”

The door swung open and Sam walked in, fidgeting anxiously as she moved to stand at the head of the table. She glanced at me and I nodded encouragingly. Sam could do this. It was a damn sight easier than the essence spell she’d performed on Spike, and with less potential repercussions. Sam’s forehead uncreased and she took a deep breath, looking up and down the table. She smiled nervously, brushing her long flowing locks behind her shoulders.

“I stand corrected.” Gunn murmured, eyeing Sam appreciatively. I resisted the urge to glare at him unprofessionally, instead folding my arms and averting my gaze. Gunn was, of course, correct. Sam was undeniably very attractive, beautiful even. That needed no justification. What did require justification was the unpleasant hot feeling I felt burning behind my eyes and flickering over my skin, along with an irrational urge to reprimand Gunn. Sam was very capable, she didn’t need me watching out for her. Not in the slightest.

“Alright.” Sam sat down just past Fred at the head of the table tucked her chair in slightly, sitting up straight. “We’ve lost Spike. And this will hopefully allow us to find him.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Fred frowned. “I mean… shouldn’t we have one of the psychics do it?”

“Sam’s an expert on the mystical, and on Spike.” I explained. “Plus, she already has a link to him thanks to the essence localisation spell she performed on him. She has the best chance of tracking him down.”

“Okay, I need all of you to try and clear your minds.” Sam smiled encouragingly. “And just focus on the words I’m saying.”

“Should we hold hands?” Fred questioned.

Sam’s eyes lingered for a half-second on the distance between me and Fred. “No. _No_. Definitely not. That would disrupt the…” Sam took a deep breath and shook her head firmly. “No holding of hands. At all. Under any circumstances.”

“Alright.” I nodded, trying to get Sam back into the zone.

Sam drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. I tried to clear my mind of the memory of her eyes, to keep myself from staring at her eyelashes, or cheekbones, or mouth… I tried.

“I call upon the Guardian of Souls, the Keeper of the Passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what has passed. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. Give voice to those who can no longer be heard. I beseech you, open your gates... reveal your secrets…”

Sam’s eyes snapped open abruptly and I averted my gaze, feeling strangely sheepish. “I sense a presence…” She murmured. “Very close…”

Sam let out a little gasp, eyes closing. “So much pain…”

“Spike’s in pain?” Fred whispered, face bloodless.

“The Dark Soul…” Sam’s eyes locked on mine, wide. Terrified. “So… much… suffering…”

“Sam, get out of there.” The words poured out of me. I felt a sudden chill in my bones, a feeling of awful apprehension. “Sam, you have to stop. Let go of it.”

“It’s coming…” Sam’s gaze never moved from mine. “I can feel it. The Dark Soul. It’s here! It’s the Reap-” Blood. I watched numbly as blood started to drip from Sam’s nose, as her hands began to claw at her throat. She was being strangled.

  
“SPIKE!” I roared, glaring around the room, suddenly on my feet. “STOP THIS INSTANT!”

“Whoa!” Gunn’s eyes widened.

“What’s happening?” Fred’s eyes were wide, locked on Sam.

“Spike, stop it.” Angel yelled.

“Let her go! NOW!” I roared, rushing to Sam’s side. On impulse, I took one of her hands, rubbing it soothingly.

“Reaper!” Sam gasped for air, hands jerking away from her horribly bruised throat. “Wesley, it’s the Reaper! Wesley, help me! Wesley, please-”

Sam’s hand was ripped from mine as she shot out of her seat, flying head-first into the ceiling with a horrible crunch. _“SAM!”_ I heard myself scream as if from a distance, just before Sam was hurled backwards through the glass wall of the office by an invisible force. I heard the wooden supports snap as they collided with her back, watched with mounting horror as every pane of glass shattered, shards of glass slicing into Sam from all sides. She slammed into the floor almost a dozen feet from where the wall had stood, rolling over several times on impact, the glass shards already on the floor cutting deeper into her.

I stumbled forwards, rushing over the glass. I stooped down and picked her up in one fluid motion, gripping her limp body tightly in my arms. I felt a massive surge of relief when I saw her take a shuddering breath in response, eyes still closed: she was alive. Weak, unconscious, bleeding profusely from dozens of wounds… but alive. There was still a chance.

I could still save her. I had to save her. Sam couldn’t die, she was…

She couldn’t.

I didn’t look back once. Less than a second after I’d scooped Sam up, I was sprinting across the lobby and up the nearest stairs (stairs, because if Spike could do _that_ to Sam then he could slow down a damn lift, and I was not taking that chance), running as hard as I could, roaring at the occasional startled worker to get out of my way, because Sam _had_ to get to medical, Sam _had_ to pull through, she was important, she was wonderful, she was kind and sweet, she was too good for Wolfram and Hart, too good for this world, too good to die so young and so brave, for trying to do what was right, she had to live!

Sam had to. The world couldn’t take her from me. It couldn’t.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Spike wouldn’t do that.” I protested, looking imploringly between Angel and Charles. “He wouldn’t hurt Sam! He talks to her all the time, he likes her and she was trying to help him, why would he do that?”

  
“Does there have to be a reason?” Charles folded his arms. “William _the Bloody._ I saw a lot of blood. He sure as hell wasn’t trying to communicate.”

“They called him that before he had a soul!” I looked to Angel. “Spike wouldn’t do that!”

“Unless he tricked us all.” Angel shrugged, eyes dark and glittering. “And the soul didn’t come back with him. Maybe Spike’s soul moved on to the afterlife, and we got the demon.”

“His soul is what’s sustaining him!” I almost yelled, so frustrated. Every second they spent accusing Spike for something he obviously didn’t do (motive aside, he couldn’t even affect the physical world, much less do that to Sam) and what had happened to Sam was awful, but we couldn’t act rashly and send Spike to hell for something he didn’t do! “Look, Sam was talking about the _Reaper._ The Dark Soul. She wouldn’t call Spike ‘Reaper’, there must be something else here! Something else at Wolfram and Hart, a hell of a lot more dangerous than Spike!”

“That… is a good point.” Charles nodded. Angel nodded, more grudgingly.

  
Which is how we ended up in Wesley’s office (I felt a pang of irrepressible sadness when I saw two cups of tea, wisps curling gently off the surface, a dunked half-eaten biscuit on a saucer, a sheet of paper covered in Sam’s loopy handwriting, a handful of doodles at the edges), poring over his books. 

The door to the office swung open and Wesley advanced into the room. His gaze was blank, fixed on the floor in front of him. Eyes dark but emotionless. He still walked with purpose but… it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out something was awfully wrong. Wesley was very good at hiding his emotions, but I knew him, I could spot the telltale signs. He felt guilty, and sad. Surely she wasn’t-

“Is Sam alright?” I stumbled upright, rushing over to him.

“She’s alive.” He croaked. “Unconscious. The doctors think she’ll pull through. They say she’s very strong, and with the remedies available here, she’ll…” He shuddered slightly and I pulled him into a hug, rocking him gently and rubbing his back soothingly. 

“Shush.” I whispered. “It’s not your fault, Wesley. It’s not your fault.”

Wesley gently pulled away. “Fred, I need the amulet. Spike’s amulet.”

Of course Wes had a plan. He probably already knew what the Dark Soul was and how to stop it. I stuck my hand in one pocket and passed him the amulet.

“Thank you.” He said without inflection, without smiling. He turned around and began walking towards the exit.

“Wesley?” I frowned. We needed to know the plan, Wesley couldn’t just go all vigilante! We had to help. “Where are you going?”

“The nearest cemetery.” Wesley replied without stopping or turning around. “I’m going to kill Spike."

I felt my stomach drop suddenly. Oh damn. “Wesley, don’t!” I gasped, running after him.

“He almost _killed_ Sam!” Wesley almost yelled as he spun to face me and I flinched away because Wesley never yelled, and _never_ at me. Guilt flashed across his face and his voice returned to normal levels. “I… Fred, whatever you think of him… you saw what he did to her. I felt her… in my arms… her breathing slowing down, her heart fluttering…” Wesley’s eyes closed and he drew a shuddering breath.

“That wasn’t Spike.” Charles announced, walking up beside Wesley, offering him a heavy book. “_This_ is our guy. Matthias Pavayne. The Dark Soul.”

Wesley turned gingerly and accepted the book. He blinked, eyes running over the words on the page. “The Reaper.” He murmured. 

“Sam knew, Wesley.” Charles placed a hand on his shoulder. “She figured it out. She wanted us to know, so we could help her. It wasn’t Spike. Pavayne did that.” Wesley nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, running one hand through his hair. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” I smiled reassuringly. “Wes, would you give me the amulet?”

“Hmm? Yes. Yes, of course. That would be best.” Wesley held out the amulet, eyes never leaving the book. “Ritualistic mass-murderer… knowledge of the Dark Arts…”

“I got a file. Internal archives.” Angel called from the desk. 

I walked to his side and began to read aloud. “Wolfram and Hart killed him. Blood sacrifice. They used his blood to deconsecrate the ground that… that this office is built on.” I frowned. “This building is built on the blood of a mass-murdering psychopath. That explains a lot.”

“Then why isn’t he in hell?” Charles frowned. “Should’ve been roasting his chestnuts there centuries ago.”

“With knowledge of the dark arts…” Wesley’s eyes was near feverish, leaping between us and the book clutched in his grasp. “He could have remained here. Hidden from our mystics. The run-of-the-mill ones, anyway. And as for the lack of ghosts, which is significant given how many people die in this place…”

“Pavayne must be doing something to them.” I nodded slowly. “Draining them or sacrificing them or something, to increase his own power, keep himself here… which means we need to help Spike, right now!”  
“Yes.” Wesley nodded, slamming the book shut. “Help Spike. Then destroy Pavayne. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Angel and Charles chorused.

“Right. You’re the Spike expert.” Wesley’s eyes fixed on mine, impossibly intense, and I suppressed a shiver. I’d forgotten how it felt when he looked at me like that, with such confidence, such expectation… “What do you suggest?”

“You got a pen?” I grinned.

“A dozen.” Wesley waved a hand and I felt my eyes widen involuntarily as everything on his desk rearranged itself, books and folders flying off to the side as pens and a notepad floated out of a newly opened drawer, arranging themselves neatly on the table. The lids on two of the pens popped off. 

“Neat trick.” I murmured, picking up that pen and sitting down in one of the chairs behind Wesley’s desk.

“But just a trick. We need a miracle.” Wesley sat down in the chair next to me and picked up a second pen, then said matter-of-factly. “That’s your department."

I blushed furiously, brushing tangled hair behind my shoulders and beginning to scribble. Step 1: extrapolate a new variation on inter dimensional plasma dynamics, because the current one sucks. Step 1A: Don’t focus on the way Wesley’s looking at you, and _definitely_ don’t keep glancing at him out of the corner of your eye while you try to do some very difficult maths. Step 1B: stop planning steps, and get to the maths!

I heard Wesley talking in the background. “Angel, find some mystics. Set up a defensive barrier around this office, and the lab. Then have them keep sweeping the building, floor-by-floor. Force Pavayne to expend some effort thwarting them, keep his attention off of Spike and off of us.” 

“Got it.”

I scribbled furiously, equation after equation dancing over the page. I ripped off the first page and tossed it away, moving onwards. No time to look back. Wesley would check my work. Sure enough, a few seconds later: “Is this a new mechanism for inter-dimensional plasma dynamics?”

“Yes.”

“That’s one way to transpose Spike’s essence from his layer of existence to our corporeal one.” Wesley murmured. “A genius way, in fact.”

“Thank you.” I muttered absently, rubbing one temple with my left hand and exhaling loudly. Iwas’t stuck, I just needed to think. 

“Try substituting in the equation three lines up.” Wesley advised after a moment. “Remembering that the variable R must be non-negative.”

I nodded. “That works. Thanks.”

“I still got it.” Wesley said, without humour.

“Sam’s gonna be fine, Wesley.” Charles said encouragingly. “She’s a fighter. She’ll pull through. Then you and Fred can bring down a whole mess of pain on Pavayne.”

  
Wesley’s answering smile was tight.

“If I’m reading this right,” Wesley said hesitantly once I was done, reading over my shoulder. “You’re going to need quite some power source for this to work. A great deal of dark energy.”

“Nuclear evil.” I nodded, setting down my pen and wincing at the pain I only now noticed in my hand. “Any ideas?”

Wesley glowered. “A volcano deep in the hidden jungles of South Africa. If I call the Johannesburg branch now, then-”

“Actually,” Charles cut Wesley off and smiled. “I might know a place a little closer to home. You two remember the Conduit?”

“I do, be careful dealing with it.” Wesley stood up, looking to me. “I think we have some building to do together.”

I swallowed and nodded, trying to figure out why my stomach had done a tiny flip at his words. “Lab?”

“Lab.” Wesley nodded, gathering my papers into his arms. I felt a renewed surge of confidence, along with a renewed sense of frustration that Spike hadn’t let me talk to Wesley before: we could have solved this weeks ago.

\+ + + + + + +

**Spike**

So bloody close. The machine, the circle. I could feel the tug of it. The tantalising pull of flesh and blood, of being able to be a part of the world again. Fred had done it, the genius, found a way to bring me back.

But Pavayne had her. One hand wrapped tight around her throat where she stood, next to the machine she’d assembled to save me. “Why-ever would I want to do that?” He smiled that creepy smile of his and tightened his grip, sending Angel, Gunn, and Wesley flying into different walls of the lab with a flick of his wrist. “All knocked down. Just like the girl. The prettier one.”

“Let her go!” I roared, advancing towards him.

“Or what?” Pavayne sneered. “Girl or the flesh, boy. Can’t have both. And this time? This time, I’ll _kill_. Wanted to kill the other one, but, well… more to her than meets the eye, couldn’t turn her pretty little head to mush. And even if I could kill her, well, let’s just say the repercussions would have been… infernal.” He laughed mockingly.

I had to help Fred! But how? How did I stop him?

“You want me to fight you.” I snarled, stalling for time, striding towards him. “One of my rules is never to do what the other guy wants you to do.”

“You have more _rules_ you think I should be aware of, I suppose?” Pavayne laughed mockingly.

“Yeah. First off, always save the girl.” He sneered. “Second? Think outside the box.” I lunged forwards and ripped his hand off Fred's neck, shoving him into her contraption.“Or inside the circle.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Wesley dumped a few more parts - irreplaceable, burned out, now _worthless_ parts - into a box. I’d failed. Again.

“You sure you’re alright?” Wesley took a step towards me, voice soft. Concerned.

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I… it’s just… am I allowed to say no?” I looked at him hopefully.

“Of course you are.” Wesley stepped forwards and gently wrapped me in his arms. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Tried not to focus on the memory of the life being strangled out of me, the way the darkness had poured into the corners of my vision, the mind-numbing pain, the impending feeling of oblivion…

“Come over here. Let’s sit down. Gunn and Angel can clean up.” Wesley guided me gently back into my office, sitting me down on the edge of my desk. He slowly let go of me, and I felt a pang of loss that I arrested by wrapping my arms around my torso as he sat down beside me.

“I almost died.” I whispered. “And I failed to save Spike.”  
“We got rid of Pavayne.” Wesley pointed out. “One mass-murdering, spirit-damning, dark warlock dispatched. Not a bad night’s work.”

“I suppose.” I forced a smile. “And you got your vengeance. For what he did to Sam.”

“I didn’t want vengeance. I wanted you to be safe. Both of you.” Wesley let out a groan and closed his eyes. “Not that you need protecting, or-”

“I think tonight I probably did.” I elbowed him playfully. “No hard feelings."  
“I’m glad.” Wesley smiled faintly. 

“Those parts were irreplaceable.” I murmured after a pause. “I don’t know how I’ll help Spike now.”

“You’ll figure something out.” Wesley said, without a trace of doubt in his voice. “Miracle worker, remember?”

I laughed despite myself. “I think resurrecting a long-dead ritualistic mass murderer makes up my miracle quota for this month.”

“Perhaps.” A small smile creased Wesley’s face. “But I doubt it. You’re a dreamer, Fred. And, unlike most, you have an impressive record of making your dreams reality.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say.” I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes.

“You’re the one who went up against Jasmine, plus all of us, and defeated her handily.” Wesley put one arm around my shoulders and my smile widened involuntarily at the warmth. “The aeons-old malevolent god didn’t stand a chance against you.”

“That was a terrifying time.” I frowned. “My fingers almost got eaten.”

“Your fingers?” I could hear the frown on Wesley’s face.

“Executive demon. Don’t ask.”

Wesley chuckled. “Alright. Keep your secrets.”

“I’m a woman of mystery.” I opened my eyes and went for a coy smile, sweeping some hair behind my shoulder. 

Wesley swallowed. “Quite.”

“Thank you.” I kissed Wesley’s cheek. “For making me feel better. You can always do that.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.” Wesley swallowed again. “And Fred… if you need a hand from me, or any of my department, with helping Spike… then you only need to ask.”

“Thanks.” I shook my head and smiled. “You really are the best, Wes.”

“I try my hardest. But I fear I always come in second place.” Wesley smiled. “Or third place, recently.”

“Has there been any word?” I squeezed his shoulder. “About Sam?”

“If there were any developments, the doctors were under strict instructions to call me. So no.” Wesley sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “I’m going to head there now. Check up on her. Maybe do some work. Wait for something to happen.”

“Oh.” I blinked. I don’t know why I was surprised, I mean… they worked together every day, and Sam had obviously got him to care about her a lot, and Wesley was very sweet and compassionate, so of course he was gonna check up on her, he’d do the same for any of us. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you there?” Wesley’s eyes swept me critically. “That is… you were being strangled…”

“No, I’m fine.” I smiled, fighting a strange desire to walk to medical with Wesley despite the fact that I felt fine, and knew I was fine. “I don’t even think I’m bruised. Am I bruised?” I tilted my head up and turned my head from side to side, giving Wesley a chance to check over my neck.

Wesley looked like he was choking on something. “Oh, er, no. No. You look fine. Better than, actually.”

“You’re very sweet.” I stretched, groaning. “God, I need some sleep. It’s been a long night.”

“Yes.” Wesley looked over his shoulder, face lit for a second by the rising sun. The light reflected off his eyes in the moment before they closed, making them sparkle like diamonds. His hair seemed to turn a different shade, a brighter warmer tone, and everything about him was thrown suddenly into sharp focus. The breath was driven out of me. I’d forgotten how handsome he was. How had I failed to notice how handsome he was every day? “Still, new day now. Sleep well, Fred.”

“I’ll see you soon, Wes.” I murmured numbly, watching him walk away. He smiled fondly and waved as he exited my office, footsteps echoing across the lab. I waved back.

I stared into empty space for I-don’t-know-how-long. I felt short of breath. Strange. I had the inescapable, impossible feeling that I should have done something, said something, something-

“Don’t suppose you built a spare?” Spike raised an eyebrow hopefully, walking through the door.

I shook my head sadly, trying to clear it of thoughts of Wesley. I failed. “Most of the pieces I used for this were nonexistent to start with. Even if I could rebuild, the odds of finding another power source… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Spike sat down on the edge of the desk. “I was there. In the office. After Pavayne hurt Sam. You stuck up for me, every step of the way. You poured your heart and soul into saving me. I made my choice, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“I’m glad you think I’m worth it.” I sighed, shaking my head.

“Everyone here _knows_ you’re worth it.” Spike grinned.

“We can try other things.” I said tentatively. “A little riskier, but-”

“No.” Spike shook his head. “I won’t end up like Pavayne, cheating hell any way I can, no matter who gets hurt.”

“That proves what I’ve been telling everybody.” I smiled.

“That I’m a handsome devil who brightens the place up?” Spike smiled cheekily.

“That you’re worth saving.” I smiled. “For the record, if you could hug people, I’d be giving you the mother-of-all-hugs right now.”

Spike grinned. “Duly noted. Besides, there’s worse things than being a ghost. Especially when I got moves like this.” An expression of intense concentration crossed his face and Spike lifted one of my coffee mugs into the air with one hand.

I laughed. It was so comical. “Physical interaction. That’s a good sign.”

“Not the only one of the night either.” Spike smirked. 

“Huh?” I raised an eyebrow. Spike chuckled. “What’s the joke?”

“I was of the opinion that you were gonna need a big shove to work out what you wanted.” Spike stood up. “But judging by the conversation I just heard - sorry I couldn’t help myself - you’re a lot closer than I thought.”

I frowned. “Huh?”

“Did all you smart people have to sign a contract before birth giving up your right to any understanding of the workings of the heart?” Spike rolled his eyes. 

“Workings of the heart? What do you-” Oh. Oh, _no_. He had this all wrong. “No, Wesley and I, we’re just-”

“Best friends. So I’ve heard. A thousand times, love. In a thousand different ways, and it was no less a lie no matter how you phrased it.” Spike clasped his hands and lent back against the wall, smiling at me warmly. “Remember I was gonna tell you the real reason you don’t like Sam?”

“Because she’s evil!”

“Nope.” Spike paused, then began counting on his fingers, leaving pauses for emphasis. “She’s smart. Very smart too, not your average garden variety smart, but proper smart. Your kind of smart. She’s cute too, in an adorable, awkward kind of way. She’s stunningly beautiful… and she thinks the _world_ of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Ok, the first three of those aren’t relevant at all.” I frowned. “And she doesn’t actually think the world of him, she just… she wants him for something. She’s tricking him, manipulating him, she-”

“She’s got serious puppy love for him.” Spike cut me off. “You _know_ Sam’s not evil. But you’ve told yourself that she is, because accepting the real reason you can’t stand the girl would mean confronting some _very_ complicated feelings.”

“No!” I shook my head vehemently. “She… she is evil, I’ll prove it, I will, she’s-”

“She’s your competition.” Spike cut me off. “And right now, pet? She’s winning, by virtue of actually _trying._”

“Competition? For what?” I frowned, momentarily thrown.

“You _know _what.” Spike paused. “Or rather, _whom_. I’d recommend you have a good hard think about this Fred. And soon. Or you’re gonna miss out… I’ll let you do that.” He backed away through the wall, with a smile and a wink.

I frowned. Spike was wrong. He was completely, utterly wrong. I wasn’t… I wasn’t _competing_ with Sam over Wesley. Because that was what he was insinuating, which was ridiculous. Wesley and me were best friends, and nothing could change that. And I was angry at Sam’s… designs on Wesley because she was evil, and manipulating him, and using him for something. She didn’t actually care about him, she didn’t. 

I wasn’t jealous.

I wasn’t jealous that she got to spend all day every day working with him, sharing tea and funny looks, talking about anything and everything, laughing about nonsense, solving problems with him, travelling to and from work with him on the back of his motorcycle, and… and…

Oh God.

I _was_ jealous. I was so, so jealous that Sam got to spend so much time with him, and I barely got to see him at all. I was jealous because I was losing my best friend to an evil employee of Wolfram and Hart.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

It started with a groan. 

The room had been horribly silent for hours. No noise but the low, steady beep of the vital monitoring machine, reassuring me that Sam’s heart was still beating. That despite the fact her chest barely rose and fell beneath her bandages, despite the darkening bruises on her neck and face, despite the fact that her arm had been put in a plaster cast against her chest, she was at least alive. Even when I strained my ears, I hadn’t been able to hear her breathing.

So when I heard the low soft groan in front of me, it was the most wonderful sound I’d ever heard. My folder of work was on the floor in a moment, my eyes fixed on Sam, praying for something to happen. Another soft groan followed the first, and Sam shifted in her sleep, blankets twisting around her as she did so. My breath caught in my throat.

When her eyes slowly opened, bright green and shining, they were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Sam…” I whispered, smiling the widest smile I’d ever smiled.

“Wesley!” Sam started to struggle upright, a wince replacing her initial smile, and I reached out one hand to firmly keep her lying down.

“Please rest.” I pleaded.

Sam hesitated, then nodded and slumped back down onto the bed, shifting onto her side so she was facing me. She looked at me. “How long?”

“It felt like a lifetime.” I murmured, shaking my head. “But just the rest of the night. It’s morning now. How are you feeling?”

Sam frowned, shifting slightly. “Like I got into a fight with a large, angry hedgehog. That knew karate.”

I choked on something between a laugh and a sob. “The doctors said you were stable now. The cuts will all heal over the next day or two. There’s less they can do about your arm. The cast is staying on at least a week.”

“At least it’s blue.” Sam smiled. “Means it won’t clash too badly.”

“Sam, I…” I drew a deep breath. Sam looked at me. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault, if I hadn’t forced you to lead the seance-”

“You _asked_ me to do it.” Sam corrected me gently, smile not wavering. Her eyes twinkled, looking very amused. “And I said yes. Because I wanted to do what was right. To help Spike. Neither of us could have known what was waiting for me… I’m guessing you figured it out?”

“We stopped him.” I nodded. “Thanks to you. You gave us everything we needed. Pavayne is dealt with.”

“Good.” Sam visibly relaxed, breathing deeply and adjusting herself slightly on the pillows. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I have so much to apologise for.” I shook my head.

“That sounds kinda tiresome.” Sam winked at me. “How about if you promise to do something for me, I promise not to lead any more seances, and we call it even?”

“Sam, you don’t-

“It will pain you to do this favour for me.” Sam’s smile widened. “You’ll be mortally embarrassed. Possibly physically pained.”

“Anything you need.”

“Sign my cast.” Sam slowly began pushing herself upright. I took one of her hands, and braced her back with my other hand, helping her to prop herself upright against the pillows. She smiled at me shyly and held out her cast. 

I blinked, swiftly removing my hands, fighting a flush of embarrassment at the intrusion. I was stupid, I should have asked before intruding, why had I just… “Umm….”

“You do know people sign casts, right?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Or is that too much fun for you English folk?”

“No, no, we do it. I just… never did myself.” I murmured. 

“Well, first time for both of us.” Sam looked at me expectantly.

I shrugged and picked up the marker pen the doctor had used for Sam’s charts. “Something like ‘this is all my fault’?”

Sam laughed. “Something nice. And funny.”

I thought for a moment, then signed the front of the cast. Sam craned her neck, shifting to try and see the words, but they remained firmly out of sight. “What did you write?” She demanded.

“Telling you what I wrote wasn’t part of the deal.” I pointed out, grinning. “We’re officially even now.”

  
Sam pouted at me, eyes going wide and luminous. God, it was so unfair that she could use her cuteness as a weapon against me.

I relented, leaning in. “Property of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” I whispered. Sam gasped, cheeks going bright red, eyes shifting away from mine. Why would she… oh. Oh God, _why_ had I tried to be funny? “As in, the _cast_ is my property because I got your arm broken, not as in, you’re not my, I don’t…”

“It’s nice.” Sam smiled, still slightly pink. “Very sweet.” I smiled gratefully at her rescue.

“How did I get… here?” Sam looked around the small patient room curiously. “I remember… shouting and running and whispering and…” She trailed off.

“I got you here.” I confessed, avoiding her eyes. “Carried you here, that is.”

“I _thought_ so.” Sam nodded slightly, wincing, free hand going to her stomach. I watched, concerned, but she waved me off. “You have very comfy arms.”

I was sure that I was red as a tomato. “Thank you.”

Sam looked at her cast again and sighed. “I suppose this means no more motorcycle rides?”

I shook my head. “Not until it’s off.”

“A week, you said?” Sam smiled hopefully.

“_At least_ a week.” I corrected.

“I hope it’s off in time for the Halloween party…” Sam frowned unhappily. “I was really looking forward to going to that… are… are you going?”

“If you’re feeling up to going, I’ll tag along.” I smiled, reaching out to take her free hand. I squeezed it, unable to repress a smile as she threaded her fingers through mine. “And if you’re not, I can cook dinner or something to make up for it. Assuming you’re not tired of my cooking after tonight-”

Sam brightened. “You’re still up for dinner tonight?”

“Of course.” I nodded. “If you are?” Sam nodded.

“I was also thinking,” I swallowed. “That instead of sharing a motorcycle, we could share one of the company cars? And drivers. They can pick me up first in the morning, then stop by yours and take the reverse route in the evenings. I ca keep you company, if you’d like, and…”

“I’d like that _very_ much.” Sam motioned for me to lean in. I frowned and did so. Was she going to whisper something to me?

Sam kissed me on the cheek, lingering for a few moments before she pulled away. A few precious moments. “I should probably let you get some sleep.” I stammered.

“Actually, would you do me a favour?” Sam nibbled her lower lip, looking down to study the blankets intensely.

“Anything.” I promised.

“Be careful who you say that to, around here.” Sam grinned weakly. I laughed and she continued. “Would you read me something? Help me fall asleep? I’m gonna need plenty to be awake enough for dinner tonight…”

“Anything in particular?” I asked, realising belatedly that she hadn’t let go of my hand. If anything, it was being gripped more tightly. “I can have someone bring down a book from-”

“Just pick anything.” Sam smiled, returning to a lying down position, squeezing her eyes shut and nestling her head on the pillows. “You can use the source book to call up anything.”

Really? Fascinating. I thought for a moment, then whispered a title to the source book and flipped it open. For a second, I was amazed that this had worked. I caught myself and started to read.

“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means…”

“Comfort.” Sam said it along with me, smiling widely as she squeezed my hand. “I love this one.”


	5. New Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween brings a contentious grenade, an epic party, and raises fateful questions.

**Fred**

I frowned, eyes sweeping the lobby. Where was Angel? He should have been back by now, it had just been a Thraxis demon. Easily dealt with. Especially with the Neural Intercept grenade Wesley and I had designed for Angel, which should kill a Thraxis in one hit.

Well.

That me, Wesley, _and Sam_ had designed and built for Angel. Because of course she’d been there when I’d gone to collect the payload from Wesley, helping him finish up the last of it. She was probably the reason Wesley was running late, distracting him with pouts, fluttery eyelashes, and needy requests for things she couldn’t do herself because of her broken arm. Which was in a cast. That insufferable cast, with the _ridiculous_ signature on it - Wesley’s handwriting! - that had made my stomach feel like a pit when I’d seen it, and filled me with an irrational urge to smack her as hard as I could.

I’d been so confused about what it meant that I’d actually gone and sought out _gossip_ from Harmony and the steno pool confirming that the writing had just been a joke on Wesley’s part and that they weren’t… that he and Sam weren’t… a thing. I’d felt an impossible sense of relief at the discovery: Wesley was still safe from that harpy. That deceitful, manipulative mastermind who had yet to make any mistakes, to let her cover slip even one inch. But I was waiting. I was ready. Watching carefully. As soon as she made a move, I was gonna-

There was Angel! Covered in Thraxis blood. Looking very pissed off. And holding the Neural Intercept grenade.

“Angel!” I ran up to him, frowning. “What happened with the Neural Intercept grenade?”

“Nothing. It didn’t work.” Angel sighed, allowing me to pry it out of his hands. I frowned, studying it. But I’d designed the trigger mechanism myself, and Wesley had crafted the payload himself, we both knew what we were doing so there was no way that…

Sam. She must have screwed it up. Of course. And Wesley claimed she was _so_ smart. Please.

“I’ll get this to Wesley, we’ll take a look at it.” I promised Angel, glancing at Wesley’s very empty office. He was probably in the archives with her. Perfect.

Just perfect. I fought to keep a glower from my face and marched over to the elevators, stabbing the down button with more force than was perhaps necessary.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I frowned at the towering bookcase in front of me, folding my arms. The tome was missing. That was frustrating. Not everyone could use the source books. Some of these books didn’t even have names I could call upon with the source books. I glowered.

“You know what’s amazing?” Sam asked lightly from just behind me.

A smile snuck onto my face. “What?”

“Having two arms.” I felt two hands move up to rub my shoulders and let out a soft groan as the tension melted away. “Both of which work. Isn’t that amazing?”

Sam was clearly happy her cast had come off this morning. “Yes, quite. Almost as if having twoarms was evolutionally optimal.”

“Spoilsport.” Sam stopped rubbing and I frowned. I missed that. She had lovely warm hands. “There’s so much more you can do with two hands than one. Like climb ladders, carry heavy objects…”

  
“Make your boss tea…” I mused, smirking.

“Mmm. Having two arms is also _very _helpful for riding on the back of a motorcycle.” Sam hummed thoughtfully.

“I imagine it would be.” I nodded, deliberately not turning around. “It’s a shame I haven’t ridden my bike to work this last week, and by all rights it should be languishing at home.”

My bike was _not_ in fact languishing at home, despite the fact that Sam and I had been sharing a company car to the office each day since her arm was broken. I’d brought it back to Wolfram and Hart a few days ago and stashed it in the underground parking, so that when Sam’s cast eventually did come off - as it now had - I could offer her a lift home on it as a nice treat. If she wanted me to. Which she presumably did, judging by her last comment. And how much she’d seemed to enjoy the previous rides…

“Wesley,” Sam trailed off hesitantly and I turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. She swallowed and continued. “I was just… I mean… I was wondering, since it’s the… the Halloween party tonight, if you were still… still interested in going?”

Oh, right. I’d promised to go with Sam if her cast was off in time. Which it was. Still, there was no reason to inflict my company on Sam during a rare evening off. The last thing she should be having to do at a party was deal with her boss. She should be having fun, letting her hair down, not babysitting a stuffy ex-Watcher. Although perhaps letting her hair down was superfluous, when her hair looked so lovely in a ponytail today…

“Hmm?” I blinked myself back to awareness and frowned. “Sam, I… I think it would be best if you attended without me.”

“Oh.” Sam looked so disappointed (crushed, even?) I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. By a freight train.

“I’m… I’m not very good at parties.” I rushed to explain, to make clear that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with _her_, but that I didn’t want to force Sam to spend more time with _me_. “They’re just not my element at all, I never have any idea what to do with myself, I can’t dance properly, and I always end up loitering awkwardly somewhere…”

Sam laughed. Not a mean laugh. A happy laugh. “That sounds like me at _every_ party I’ve ever been to!” She frowned. “Which wasn’t too many, come to think of it. Look, it’ll be _way_ more fun if we go together! Two people who are bad at parties can share in their mutual bad party-ness, and y’know… enjoy themselves. And, well…” Sam flushed slightly, hands beginning to fidget. “I’m really not a very good dancer either, so personally I’d much rather end up dancing with someone who isn’t great at it either, so that way I don’t have to feel too bad about how bad I am, and oh that came out wrong, I just meant to say… I’d really, _really_ like to go with you.”

Sam looked up at me pleadingly, eyes wide, eyelashes fluttering. Damn. 

I was going to the party. Still, at least that might get Lorne off my back. If I told him I was going without him having to bother me about it endlessly, I might earn some brownie points. Maybe enough to get away with not going to the next big event. That was why I was doing this. Subjecting myself to this party, and dooming Sam to a night of my company. It was purely rational.

Purely rational.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind my grumpy visage hovering all night, then fine.” I nodded. “I’ll go.”

Sam beamed at me, clapping her hands excitedly and tackling me into an all-too-brief hug. “Thank you!” 

“There are two conditions.” I paused and Sam nodded. “Firstly, if you tire of my company or I’m ruining your night, you must promise that you’ll ask me to bugger off and not try to spare my feelings on the matter.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Sam smiled. “Condition two?”

“Condition two is you promising not to complain,” I bent down to retrieve the wrapped package I’d stashed under the table earlier, as soon as I found out Sam’s cast was coming off today. “About this.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You got me a present?”

“Happy Halloween.” I tossed her the bundle at her and she caught it, smiling shyly. “Think of this as a joint present for Halloween, your cast coming off, an apology for my recklessness getting your arm broken, and a thank you for making life at Wolfram and Hart… enjoyable.”

Sam went red as a tomato, hugging the package to her chest and smiling at her feet. “Thank you, Wesley. That’s really sweet.”

“I try my best.” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to open it?”

Sam carefully put down the package on the table, then tore apart the wrapping paper with impressive abandon. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at me as she lifted up the folded leather jacket, shaking it out to its full length. “You mentioned you thought you’d look good in it.” I shrugged. “And I figured, since you’d be on the bike, it was about time you get a set.” I reached in to pick up the matching trousers, shaking them out. “I had them enchanted by our finest mystics. They’re extra durable and protective, without being bulky or overly heavy.”

“I love them.” Sam smiled broadly at me, and began shrugging into the jacket. “I had to guess the size.” I swallowed. “I can easily have them magically re-sized, if they’re not quite-”  
“Shush.” Sam pressed a single finger to my lips. I swallowed as she zipped up the jacket. She lifted both arms overhead, moving from side to side experimentally. “It’s a little snug.” She mused.

Yes. _Yes it was_. The jacket clung to every contour, every curve, every-

I shut down that train of thought as fast as I could and used all my willpower to drag my gaze back up to Sam’s face. “You were right. You do look good in leather.”

“Thank you.” Sam grinned, striking a pose and tilting her head to one side, flipping her ponytail as she did so. I fought the urge to whimper. She looked incredible. “I wonder if the trousers will look good as well…”

“I imagine they will.” I almost choked. I hoped I hadn’t got the size too small on those as well. Although, ifhad then perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely… Sam stepped forwards and pressed a swift kiss to my cheek.

“Thanks, Wesley.” Sam grinned. “Don’t think this means you’ve got out of going to the party tonight.”

“No, I’m quite resigned to my fate, I assure you.” I made an exaggerated grimace and Sam laughed loudly. She had such a lovely laugh.

Maybe this party wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I followed the sound of laughter through the stacks, gripping the inoperable grenade tightly. Sam had an intensely irritating laugh. Almost as irritating as her babbling. And she put _both_ on display near incessantly. Did she ever do anything besides giggle?

I forced a neutral expression onto my face and took a few calming breaths as I approached the final corner. The trick was to not let this get to me. Not let Sam get to me. Which would be quite a trick. I rounded the corner and blanched. Wow. 

I mean… Sam had definitely been stretching the limits of decent workplace clothing recently. Lower-cut tops, shorter skirts… but… but a _leather jacket?_ One that looked at least two sizes too small, that clung to every inch of her…

What a harpy! At least she wasn’t wearing the cast anymore. That was a marginal improvement.

“Good morning Wesley.” I smiled professionally, marching determinedly up to them. 

“Ah, good morning Fred.” Wesley turned to face me and smiled broadly. He was in a good mood. That was suspicious. If it was any other male, I would have put it down to Sam dressing like _that_ in front of them, but Wesley wasn’t like that. “What can I do for you?”  
“Morning, Fred!” Sam waved, shooting me a smile dripping with fake-ness, voice laced with false honey.

I responded in kind. “Good morning, Ms Jennings.” Couldn’t hurt to remind her of proper workplace etiquette. “Wesley, there was a problem with the grenade.”

“Problem?” Wesley’s brow furrowed, and I held up the grenade. He took it and frowned, looking it over. “Ah. By which you mean, it was a-”

“Complete failure, yeah.” I nodded.

“Ah.” Guilt flashed over Wesley’s face. Poor thing. He shouldn’t be beating himself up about this. “How was Angel?”

“Covered in gunk. And cross. But pretty much unhurt.”

“Well, I suppose we should be thanking our lucky stars then…” Wesley murmured. “At least until he rips the piss out of me for messing this up." Sam laughed girlishly.

I managed to hide my free hand behind my back as it clenched into a fist. “_Wesley_, we sent him out there with a defective piece of weaponry.”

“Right. Yes. Of course, sorry.” Wesley nodded, eyes fixing on mine. “And you’d like to take a look at it together, figure out what the problem is?”

“I’m not opposed to taking a look at it together, but I think we both know the problem’s origin.” I resisted the urge to glance meaningfully at Sam.

Wesley looked surprised. “Well, I mean, I _was_ thinking the fault was almost certainly with the-”

“Core enchantment.” I finished.

“Trigger mechanism.” Sam and Wesley said in unison, a half-second after me.

A cute-looking smile passed over Sam’s face (presumably for Wesley’s benefit) before she made a show of getting it under control. As if she’d be happy they were in sync. This was just one time.

Wait, what did they mean, the _trigger mechanism?_

“Wesley, I designed the trigger mechanism myself.” I frowned. “The problem has to be with the mystical element. My trigger works perfectly.” The last sentence had just slipped out. I didn’t need to prove myself to Wesley, he knew what I was capable of, and I certainly didn’t need to prove anything to Sam and yet… it had just slipped out.

Wesley rubbed his chin and said diplomatically. “Fred, these techno-mystical hybrids are a complex affair.”

“Fred, who machined the trigger mechanism?” Sam asked, voice laced with false innocence and honey.

“Oe of my lab staff.” I folded my arms. “I trust them.”

“Fred,” Wesley - thank God - responded this time. “None of us would ever question your design, but it seems possible, likely even, that the fault was in its implementation by the rest of the lab.” Please. There was a more obvious explanation. That Sam screwed up, and was now covering for it by trying to shift the blame onto the lab. Like the immature harpy she was.

“I designed it. A tech I trust machined it. The trigger mechanism is rock solid. End of story.” I frowned stonily at them.

“Well,” Wesley was frowning now too. “I did most of the work on the core enchantment myself, and it’s solid.”

“And I did the rest of it.” Sam added. “And looked it over too. And I got that… that knowing feeling you get, the one when you know something?” She looked at Wesley.

“I love that knowing feeling.” He nodded. Sam beamed.

The grenade might not be operational, but if I snatched it from Wesley and threw it hard enough, I would definitely be able to give her a concussion… if I angled it just right, then I could probably-

“HAPPY Halloween, kids!” Lorne grinned, wandering around the corner. “Trick or treat?”

“Ooh, treat!” Sam, rummaged in a pocket on her trousers and tossed something at Lorne, which he caught. I frowned: a mini candy bar? Sam blushed slightly. “I… I get peckish…”

“No complaints here, Sammy.” Lorne chuckled, stowing the candy in a pocket and stopping with a flourish next to me. “No complaints at all.”

“Hi, Lorne.” I inclined my head, partly to hide my frown. When had Lorne started calling Sam ‘Sammy’?

“So, what do you say we put away your little toys for a little bit, huh?” Lorne rubbed his hands together and smiled almost maniacally. “And talk about something a little more important, like my monster mash?”

“Oh.” Right. That was tonight. Had I said I was going? I really hope I hadn’t. I never knew what to do with myself at parties, I just ended up loitering awkwardly. And I couldn’t dance. At all. “Right… your party.”

“_Our_ party, Fredikins.” Lorne said insistently, spreading his arms to encompass all of us. “Which, by the way, is dying on the vine. I could really, really, really use some help from you guys, some backup?”

Ah. This was kind of awkward. Because I wasn’t gonna go, and Wesley definitely wasn’t gonna go because if anyone hated parties more than me it was Wesley, so I guess Lorne would have Sam but the rest of us would need to make some pretty good excuses in order to-

“We’re going.” Wesley held up both hands. “Your work here is done.”

Lorne blinked, looking straight at Wesley. I was right there with him. Wesley was going? And I hadn’t told him I was going, wasn’t planning to go, which meant that since he said _we,_ he was going…

With her.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably, and I felt all prickly and hot. Did this room not have air conditioning? “You and Fred are already going?” Lorne laughed. “Well, that makes my job a lot-”

“Actually, Sam and I.” Wesley corrected, tips of his ears going red.

“Oh. Oh, right. Sure. Right. Uh huh. Comprende.” Lorne swivelled to face me, eyes narrowing a fraction. I could practically see him trying to read my aura. “And you must be coming too, right, Fred?”

“I… wasn’t planning on going.” I confessed, unable to come up with a better excuse, my mind still racing. How had Sam convinced him to go? Bribed him? Threatened him? Enchanted him with a spell? Manipulated him with her cast? Using her feminine… no, Wesley was immune to that sort of thing. She’d used some kind of spell.

There was no other plausible explanation.

Lorne’s smile didn’t flicker. “Ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Hahahaha. That’s funny. Wes, Sammy. Talk some sense into her.”

“You should definitely come!” And like magic, Sam was all smiles again, gushing. “It’ll be great!”

“See?” Lorne laughed. “C’mon Fred, you should-”

“I mean…” Sam frowned. “Last year was kinda… kinda awful, but I’m sure with you organising it Lorne, it’ll be super!” Sam beamed. Lorne and Wesley looked confused.

“Awful?” Wesley frowned.

Sam shuddered. “They… they burned these cows _alive_ in a giant wooden effigy. It was gross. And sacrilegious. I couldn’t touch meat for months.”

“There will be NO burning of cows!” Lorne announced loudly, swivelling back to face me. “You have got to come, Fred.”

“I really want to get this operational before Angel goes out again.” I looked at Wesley. “I’ll look at this overnight. If you’re sure it’s a problem with the mechanical side of it, why don’t you join me and we can fix it up together?”

Wesley frowned, and Sam paled. Ha! Bet that wasn’t part of your scheme! “Fixing this is a one-person job.” Wesley picked up the grenade again, then smiled at me warmly. Was he really going to… was he about to choose a _party_ with _Sam_, over a research session with _me_? “I’ll fix this tonight. You and Sam should go to the party together. You’ll have a lot of fun. Keep each other company.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open into a slight ‘o’. Which was fine with me, since I’d sooner spend the night in Pylea than _anywhere _with _her._ Why would Wesley even consider sending me and Sam anywhere together? We were nothing alike! 

“No, no, no!” Lorne shouted, shaking his head vigorously and glaring between me and Wesley. “No, no, NO! NO! Wes! Fred! You two are going. Find somebody else to fix the damn gizmo, or I swear-”

“I’ll fix it.” Sam said quietly, and Lorne stopped talking. She gently pried it out of Wesley’s grip. “It’s probably a problem with my part of the core enchantment anyway, must have scribed a rune wrong, I’ll get it done.”

“Sam, you absolutely won’t. That’s not fair.” Wesley frowned. “You’ve wanted to go to this party all week, your cast just came off and you’ll certainly have a far better time than I will, so I will stay and fix the grenade, and you can-”

“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Lorne groaned, then pointed to each of us in turn. “Sammy, work your darling magic and fix the grenade. Wes, not one more word out of you to the contrary. Fred, you and Wesley are both coming to this party. And I’ll see both of you, Angel’s office, fifteen minutes. Capeesh?” Lorne glared at us thunderously, daring any of us to disagree. Wow. He… he really cared about this party.

“Capeesh.” I said, a half-second before Sam said the same thing. I fought off the urge to glower at her.

“Understood.” Wesley sighed.

So, I was going to the party. 

Yay. 

Still, things could be worse. I mean, obviously it wasn’t anywhere as nice as Wesley and me doing some good old-fashioned puzzle-solving alone together, but it was a hell of a lot better than Sam dragging him out to the party. Who knows what she had planned for him! She might have been planning to get him drunk and take advantage of him! Or put another spell on him. No way. Not on my watch. I was going to stick to Wesley like glue. Anybody who wanted a piece of him, was going to have to go through me.

After I’d changed for the party. If I had to go to this thing, no sense in being underdressed.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Look at Lorne.” Fred shook her head admiringly, gesturing at the demon in question. “I mean, God, he's just so good at this. He fits in with everybody.”

“It’s definitely a skill.” I sighed, leaning against one of the supports and sipping my beer idly. Damn, that was good. I checked the label: right, it was one of the fruity beers Sam had recommended. Very pleasantly zingy. Like the lady herself.Always so full of life.

I refocused, turning back to Fred. “I used to be a lot better with people.”

“I know, same here!” Fred turned to face me properly. “When I was younger it was so easy! I could ask questions without annoying people, then just follow my train of thought and nobody would mind. Now, if I follow my train of thought people tend to either end up confused or vaguely nauseous.”

“I assure you, not all of us do.” I smiled. “I have a particular fondness for our deeper and more rambling conversations.”

“Thanks.” Fred shot me a quick smile, then looked back over at Lorne. “But that’s just you. Most people? Especially normal people? Yikes.”

“How flattering.” I raised an eyebrow.

Fred snorted. “You’re offended I don’t think you’re _normal_? Who on Earth wants to be normal?”

“Fair point. Still,” I frowned, looking over the heaving mass of people that couldn’t fill me with more dread if they’d been armed to the teeth and hungry for my blood. “I imagine it would make social events much more bearable.”

“Yeah… I guess I’ve always hated parties.” Fred plucked a chocolate finger off the table and nibbled on it thoughtfully. “I never know what to do with myself. I just end up at the hors d’oeuvres table, trying to look occupied.”

“I was thinking much the same thing earlier.” I smiled, thinking of my conversation with Sam, which had touched on many of the same points. It really was a shame Sam hadn’t come. She’d so wanted to attend. I should have fought Lorne on that.

Why hadn’t I fought Lorne on that? I should have done, I’d been sure his decision was wrong, why hadn’t I said-

“Hey there, wallflowers!” Lorne waved as he walked over. “Looking good.”

“Thanks.” Fred smiled warmly. Fred was looking a lot better than ‘good’. She’d managed to get her hair extra curly, was wearing some tasteful lipstick, and had donned a very elegant - yet practical - blue dress, completing the outfit with silver earrings and a necklace. I hid a crooked smile behind one hand: for all her reluctance to attend this party (and now her bashing of it), Fred had dressed to impress. I doubted she was actually looking to meet a potential significant other here - we all knew the temperament of almost all the staff here - but she had every right to assert her status as one of the most beautiful women at Wolfram and Hart. Certainly by far the most beautiful at this party. I had dressed more simply, in a smart shirt and chinos (Sam had bullied me into changing out of my work clothes and into some nicer ones retrieved from my apartment) with brown boots. Sam had given my outfit a thumbs up. 

Sam still hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that she didn’t need to compliment me just because I was her boss. Not that I minded. Nothing stroked the ego quite like a compliment from a woman of Sam’s calibre. Even if it was wholly unearned.

Fred’s smile shifted to a distinctly unimpressed look. “Wallflowers?” Tactless it might be on Lorne’s part, but I had to admit… we were acting like wallflowers. Could one be a wallflower in a group?

“Listen,” Lorne clasped his hands together and looked between us. “I need you to give me a hand, help light the fuse on this powder keg.” That sounded mildly horrifying. Were we going to be forced to mingle? With evil clients? And evil workers? 

“_Look_ at the dance floor, the only thing on it is Harmony.” Lorne muttered, turning to wave to the vampire in question and yell encouragement. I swallowed. Not mingling, _dancing_. We’d advanced from mildly horrifying to just plain horrifying. Bad enough to dance when other people were dancing and nobody could see me but… practically alone? A dance-floor with just Harmony and Fred? Embarrassing myself in front of everyone in the building?

No. I’d die first.

“I’m afraid this really isn’t our element, Lorne.” I said diplomatically, internally scrambling for an escape hatch. I wish Sam was here. She’d be able to handle Lorne better than I could. Defuse this situation delicately. Or maybe she’d just have pulled me onto the dance-floor. The prospect should have filled me with horror, and yet… it didn’t sound so bad. If it was Sam, I could do my best to ignore everyone else. Just focus on her, the way she’d giggle when she saw my awful attempts to move with the rhythm, or flush that lovely pink colour when I teased - gently - her own efforts. I wonder if she would have worn a dress, or chosen a more understated outfit. She’d have looked wonderful either way.

“Yeah.” Fred looked Lorne dead in the eye and smiled sweetly. “We’re _wallflowers_.” I chuckled. Very formidable.

“Oh, no, no, no, sweetie.” Lorne shook his head, visibly trying to recover from his slip-up. “You're the young, the beautiful, the ready-to… oh. Well, here's one problem. You're totally sober! It's Halloween. You should be three sheets to the wind already. Now, try and get into the spirit of things, OK?” Lorne favoured us with another slightly feverish grin, and marched towards Angel’s office.

Fred frowned. “We’re not… boring, are we?”

“No, certainly not.” I shook my head. “Put us in a debate chamber or a laboratory and we’re the liveliest duo you’ll ever see. But here…” I shrugged helplessly.

“You’re right.” Fred nodded, eyes tracking Lorne as he steamrolled towards Angel’s office. “I feel very sorry for Angel right now.”

“Lorne has been wound rather tightly recently.” I nodded. “Hopefully once this party’s finally over and done with, he can relax himself a little.”

An expression of hurt flashed across Fred’s face and she turned away. “Yeah. I guess. But when do any of us get to relax?”

Oh bugger, what had I done this time? I’d barely seen Fred all week - since the mess with Pavayne - as I’d been so busy running my department, helping Sam recover from her injuries, and convincing the mystics they didn’t need to be terrified of working in the building (they were concerned they might be thrown through walls by angry spirits) that I’d barely had any time spare at all. Minus a few mid-morning tea breaks with Sam and chatting in the car on the journey to and from home, it had been all work and no play. 

“I suppose we can relax now.” I smiled, offering Fred my drink. “Would you like to try some?”

“Sure.” Fred took the bottle and sipped. “Still, it’s not like we have to be drunk to have a good time. Do we?”

“Of course not.” I rolled my eyes. “Lorne’s just frustrated. We’ve had plenty of good times, no alcohol required. Like that time we translated that ancient prophecy everyone was worried about, and it turned out to concern a chicken farmer?”

Fred giggled. “Or the time we found a definitional flaw in that crossword puzzle in your office?”

“Or when you realised the ultra hard sudoku had a mistake in it that made it undoable.” I smiled fondly. “After you’d spent thirty minutes working on it. You ranted for forty minutes straight, if quietly, then sent a delightfully passive-aggressive email from my computer about it. I think that was the first time I heard you say more than a few sentences at once.”

“I was very cross.” Fred’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t been able to do sudokus for five years, then I get back and I finally find one that feels like it’s challenging me after a few weeks of burning through them, and it turns out to be impossible!”

“No, no, I understand.” I nodded placatingly. “I get it, really. I’m not reprimanding, just… reminiscing.”

“I know.” Fred giggled and smiled fondly. “I knew you’d get it. I remember you… you once got very cross because there was a typo in a research article… in that journal we were reading…”

“The one on the possibility of alternate dimensions, yes.” I frowned. “It was all very funny until the writer mis-spelled _dimension_ in the middle of the article.”

“You were so mad!” Fred laughed, grabbing my forearm and tugging me towards one of the other refreshment tables. She looked over her shoulder at me, scrunching up her face into a glower and putting on a not-entirely-terrible English accent. “I mean, _honestly,_ it’s in the title of the article, is the author _inarticulate_? Were the editors _lackadaisical_?”

“I don’t feel any of my comments were unfair…” I muttered.

“Not reprimanding.” Fred turned around and tapped my chin, grinning. “Just reminiscing.”

“Sorry.” I smiled ruefully. “I’m being altogether too prickly.”

“Pfft. Nah.” Fred waved a hand airily, then frowned and lowered her voice. “When I was writing my article… I remembered that and I was extra sure not to make any spelling mistakes. Or grammar mistakes. I nearly slipped up on the who versus whom front at one stage, gave myself a heart attack when I was proof-reading.”

“You always show impressive attention to detail.” I nodded approvingly. “Which paid off. An… an excellent piece.” A smile lingered on my face at the memory: seeing Fred - on amiable terms - for the first time in far too long, talking… rekindling our friendship. It had been beyond lovely.

Bloody vengeance aside.

“I was very happy that you’d read it.” Fred smiled broadly, still speaking softly. “And… even happier that you’d understood it. And liked it. And asked a neat question.”

“Fred, of course I was going to read it.” I smiled in return. “I care. Although I never got an answer to my question about Pauli repulsion…”

“I’m sure the solution will come to you eventually!” Fred giggled, turning around to drag me towards the buffet table we’d originally beelined for. “C’mon! If you haven’t figured it out by the end of the night, I’ll explain over coffee.”

I was definitely going to need coffee if I was to function tomorrow. “Done.” I nodded.

“This beer’s really nice.” Fred grinned, shaking the bottle. “I usually don’t like beer but this is… very fruity. Tangy and zingy. Excellent choice.”

“Yes, I like it too.” I smiled fondly. “Sam recommended it. One of her favourites.”

“Oh.” Fred’s brow furrowed and she looked at the beer, eyes narrowing. That was odd.

Was that odd?

“Why does she have to have such good taste…” Fred mumbled sullenly, glancing at me.

“I wouldn’t undersell your own taste.” I shrugged. “Just look at your outfit. It’s incredible. Elegant, but not ostentatious… and you have excellent taste in friends, if I may say so.”

“I think you’re right. At least about the friends part.” Fred nodded. “Not so much in halloween costumes though…”

“Who did you dress up as when you were younger? Marie Curie? Albert Einstein?” I grinned, letting Fred lead me past the lifts. “Florence Nightingale?”

“I wasn’t always a science nerd.” Fred rolled her eyes and giggled, slipping her arm through mine. “My costumes weren’t all science themed! For eight years straight I went out dressed as Raggedy Ann.” Fred smiled at the memory.

I glanced over at Fred, imagining her with flame-red hair. It was quite an image, especially in her current attire. 

“Watch out.” Fred tugged slightly on my arm, steering me out of the way of an irritable looking demon. 

“Thank you.” I nodded, trying to get the image of a redheaded Fred out of my head. So much rhyming. “It sounds like fun. I never really celebrated Halloween when I was younger.”

Fred pulled me to a stop and gazed up at me, brown eyes soft as melted chocolate. “Oh.” She put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me down into a hug. “That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I turned out fine.” I chuckled. “I imagine your favourite part of Halloween was the chocolate?”

“_So_ much free chocolate!” Fred giggled, squeezing me pleasantly. “That’s why I dressed as Raggedy Ann. The scary costumes are the coolest, but the cute costumes get the most sweets!”

“You devious little thing.” I murmured, grinning.

Fred pulled back slightly and looked up at me, soulful brown eyes going wide and soft. “Trick or treat?” She said in a slightly falsetto voice, hopeful smile wavering. God, she looked adorable. If she’d done this when she was a child, all dressed up in a cute costume…

“You must have cleaned people out of house and home.” I shook my head. “How did anyone resist giving you their entire stash?”

“Some people came close to doing that.” Fred giggled. “Mom used to tell me every Halloween that I was going to have every boy in town wrapped around my little finger when I grew up.”

“Well, your mother’s normally right, in my experience.” I mused.

Fred snorted. “Maybe, but she was dead wrong there.” I tried to avoid choking. Fred clearly had no idea of the effect she had on people.

On me. 

“Maybe if I’d filled out a bit more in front, she’d have been dead-on…” Fred mused, glancing down at herself appraisingly. “What do you think, Wes?”

I felt my cheeks flush bright red. “I think… I think we were going to the buffet table?”  
“Ooh, yeah!” Fred nodded vigorously, stumbling forwards again, pulling me along behind her. “Look at those potstickers!”

“Watch out, guys.” Harmony materialised out of the crowd and gestured to the floor near the buffet table. “Somebody peed all over there.” She vanished again.

Fred frowned, looking a lot less keen on potstickers all of a sudden. I sighed. “I hate parties.”

“Well, misery loves company!” Fred giggled, elbowing me and sipping her beer. “And so do I! At least, tonight I love _my_ company.” I felt a faint pang of longing in my chest, grateful that Fred’s gaze had shifted away from me and back to her beer.

“Oh God.” She mumbled.

“What?” I frowned.

“I drank this.”

“You’ve been drinking that for a while.” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was before I knew it was the spawn of the-” Fred hesitated. “Never mind. C’mon! Screw the pee-buffet!”

“Alright.” I let Fred start dragging me forwards. “Where are we going?”

“Dancing!”

Oh God.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Wesley spun me around and I let out a woop of delight, giggling as the world kept spinning even after I stopped doing so. “I think we’re really good at this!” I laughed, grinning. “Are we really good at this?”

“I seem to remember that I’m really not.” Wesley frowned, bopping along fantastically in time to the music. “But I don’t seem to care, for some reason. And I have a strange feeling I might just be alright at this.”

“Embrace the feelings!” I laughed. “Dance dance dance! Catch me!” I stumbled forwards and leaped at him. Wesley cursed and caught me mid-air, hands on my waist. I giggled uncontrollably, holding my hands - one of them still clutching Sam’s infernal beer, couldn’t risk anyone else being contaminated by it - overhead as Wesley spun me around twice and set me down. He had such lovely warm hands.

“Your turn! Your turn!” I held out both hands. “C’mon! I’ll catch you!”

Wesley burst out laughing, shaking with the force of it, gasping for air. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to end up on the floor Fred, in case our friend the Mystery Pisser has struck again.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t catch you?” I smirked at him. “C’mon! I can take it!” 

Wesley kept laughing. “Why don’t you spin me instead?”

“Deal!” I grabbed his hand and started to twirl him. I spun him around over and over, until he stumbled free, teetering from side to side.

I guffawed, clasping both hands over my mouth to keep from collapsing in a fit of giggles. Wesley was so funny. And fun. I was having so much fun! At a party! How weird was that? _And_ I was dancing well! What a night!

Wesley gripped his head with both hands and swore quietly. “Fred…” He muttered.

“Wes?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I just remembered…” He slurred. “The world… spins on its axis… it’s spinning…” He proceeded to go horizontal. I lunged forwards and caught him, one hand on his back, the other cradling his head.

“Told you I could catch you!” I grinned, sticking out my tongue at him.Wesley chuckled and I helped him upright.

“I owe you one.” Wesley grinned.

“Well, I’m cashing in right now!” I pointed over his shoulder. “CONGA!” Wesley didn’t manage a single word of protest before I’d shoved him into the line, tagging along behind him. I put both hands on his shoulders and hummed happily. Those felt nice. So muscly and defined. I squeezed happily, closing my eyes and letting him lead me on. 

Somebody barged into me and I frowned, standing still and opening my eyes to see a demon glaring at me. How rude! “You want a piece of me, buddy?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips. He flinched away, obviously terrified, and scurried away across the dance floor. That showed him. I should tell everyone how much I showed him! “Yeah, that’s right! Keep walking! You walk alone!” I pointed after him. “You walk _alone_!!” I hope Wesley had seen how much I showed him.

“Careful!” Wesley slipped one arm around my waist from behind - his hands were still warm - and gently pulled me away from that-demon-I-owned. I could handle that guy! I had handled that guy! He was probably the one pissing all over the floor, cos I’d scared him so much! “That thing’s loaded.” I stumbled forwards, reaching around behind me for Wesley’s head. Why was I trying to grab Wesley’s head? Why was I picking (and winning!) fights with random demon schmucks? Why was I still carrying this beer when I desperately hated it, despite how amazing it tasted? Why was I enjoying a party, and why hadn’t I tried to lead Wesley off somewhere to read or chat together instead of dancing?

“So am I. I mean, wow, Wes.” Wesley kept leading me off the dance floor. I really liked the feeling of his arm around my waist. That was so nice. We should stand still so I could enjoy it better. And explain what I was thinking. Minus the part about how nice his arm was. “Wesleeey.” I drew to a stop and stumbled, slinging my arms around Wesley’s neck to balance myself, leaning forwards on his chest to make sure I was secure. “I am… totally drunk-faced.” I started giggling again, laughing into his chest.

Wesley dutifully kept leading me out of the crush of people, probably so I didn’t beat down another demon. “Because you can’t hold your… how much have you had to drink?”

“Just half of Sam’s crappy beer.” I pouted. 

“Well, you can’t hold that.” Wesley chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?” I frowned at him, running my eyes over his face. Mmm. Regardless, he didn’t seem sober either! “Lightweight! How much have you had?” I pinned him against the wall and looked at him accusingly.  
Wesley frowned. “About… a third of a half… of your beer.”

“Huh.” I nibbled my lower lip. We’d both drunk almost nothing… but we were drunk. Huh. Drunk almost nothing… but drunk. Uh-huh. “That’s weird, right, Wes?”

“Yes, I think so.” Wesley nodded. “I think that’s weird.”

“We both drank Sam’s beer!” I gasped, holding it up to the light. “It must be poisoned! Or cursed! She’s out to get us! If we go to the lab, I can run an analysis and-”

“Fred.”

I was caught up in my train of thought, this was brilliant! I had her, I finally had her, I had evidence I could use to prove she was evil and she’d be gone, gone, gone with the wind and I’d have Wesley back. “-prove that she tampered with it, probably very maliciously, and then we’ll have her!”

“Fred,” Wesley said patiently, still frowning at something over my shoulder. “I think Gunn’s pissing on the floor.”

What? I turned around. “Oh.” He was.

“That’s gotta be weird, right?”

“Really weird.” I frowned. “Let’s go explain how weird this is.”

“Gunn, you’re pissing on the floor!” Wesley frowned at him. 

Gunn glanced down and his eyes widened. I kept mine averted. “I’ll be damned. That is weird.”  
“That’s what we thought!” I slung an arm over Wesley’s shoulders. “So, so weird!”

“Hey!” Spike sauntered up to us, grinning widely. “Is this a great party, or what?”

I blinked, waiting for a punchline. It never came. He wasn’t being sarcastic.

That… was so weird. Weirder than Charles peeing on the floor. Which was pretty weird. Spike began shaking his head in time to the music, still grinning. I couldn’t look away. It was horrifying. “Okayyy.” I frowned. “Something is… definitely wrong with this picture.”

“This might be the GREATEST song ever written!” Spike laughed. He started dancing on the spot. I could only look on in abject horror.

“We appear to be under the effect of something, a spell.” Wesley murmured, eyes narrowing.

“Yes.” I nodded vigorously. “It must be somebody in the building, but probably not at the party. Somebody we’ve all run into today, who’s a powerful mystic, and who had the opportunity to orchestrate all this, to make sure she wasn’t-”

“Spike,” Gunn talked like I wasn’t even there and I trailed off. That was insulting. Wes wouldn’t have interrupted me like that. “How long have you been… this?”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Spike grinned. “I don’t know! Happened a bit after I talked with Angel and Lorne. Yeah! Lorne told me to think positively.” Spike grinned.

“Lorne!” Wesley snapped his fingers triumphantly.

“I still don’t think we should be ruling out malevolent mystics, especially blonde ones who work in Research and Intelligence, seems flimsy to pin all this on Lorne when there’s such insufficient and circumstantial evidence…” I mumbled, traipsing after Wesley, Gunn, and Spike as they escorted Lorne towards Angel’s office.

I was still carrying Sam’s beer. I downed the last of it before tossing it into the nearest bin. “Floozy.” I muttered, stalking into Angel’s office.

“Guys!” Lorne whined, struggling weakly against Wesley’s grip. He should really just stop struggling, lean into it and enjoy the feel of Wesley’s hands. They were nice hands. “I’m telling you I did _not_ do _anything!”_

“Angel!” I called out, frowning and looking around the office. Where was he? “You in here? Ange-”

“What?” Angel looked up from over the top of the sofa. He looked… naked. 

Huh? Did I miss something?

“What?” Angel asked. Then my mouth dropped open. Eve had also been on the sofa. Also naked. I took a few steps backwards reflexively.

“Hey, Angel’s getting some!” Spike grinned, offering a thumbs up. “Good on you, mate!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Angel frowned. Said him!

“What is it with all of you and evil blondes who work for Wolfram and Hart?” I huffed, folding my arms and glaring around the room. “I mean, seriously! Do you have no self-control? At least the other one is _pretending_ not to be evil, but you’ve got no excuse Angel!” Everyone else looked confused. This wasn’t hard to follow!

“He must be under the effect of Lorne!” Wesley nodded, leaning in. “And Eve too… presum… presumally!”

I snorted, giggling into cupped hands. Wesley was so funny. “Presumally!” I moved one hand away from my mouth to point at Angel. Maybe this would show Wesley the error of his ways. Teach him to stay away from evil women.

And also blondes. 

“Lorne’s doing something to all of us.” Wesley continued, gripping Lorne’s shoulder tightly. I wonder if Lorne would swap places with me if I asked?

“I am not!” Lorne protested. Eve disappeared out of sight. I decided to just not look in that direction anymore. That would be best.

“Everything he’s told us to do, we’re doing! Spike’s thinking positive,” Spike shot us a grin from over by Angel’s desk. “Gunn is peeing all over the office!”

“And we’re a… a little bit drunk.” I explained, stumbling over to lean against Wesley for balance, resting my head on his free shoulder and putting one arm over his other shoulder. For balance. “But not because we drank any nice alcohol, because Lorne told us to be drunk!”

“Lorne told you to pee all over the office?” Angel looked aghast.

“Lord, I hope so.” Gunn muttered. I giggled.

“This is crazy! I am not doing this!” Lorne shook his head. “I would know if I was doing this, I don’t even know what this is!”

“We need to test it.” I nodded sagely. “Lorne, go… go find Sam and tell her to… tell her to stop-”

“Territory!” Gunn exclaimed. I really wish he would stop interrupting me right when I was getting into the swing of it. “Lorne told me to stake out my territory!”

“Territorial marking!” Wesley exclaimed victoriously, grinning at me. I grinned back. He had a very handsome smile. “Taken a little too literally.” I giggled.

“Hey, you two, stop that!” Gunn yelled in Angel and Eve’s direction. I was glad I wasn’t looking over there. Smiling at Wesley was much more fun. Especially when he was smiling back. I made a funny face and Wesley chuckled, making one back. I giggled, burrowing slightly into his side.

“I did not tell Gunn to go water the ferns!” Lorne looked between me and Wes. I raised an eyebrow. “I did not do anything!”

“You had your sleep removed!” Gunn declared.

“What?” Wesley’s silly-silly-face very abruptly became a very worried-face. That couldn’t be good.

“He hasn’t slept in a month.” Gunn explained.

“Oh, dear.” Wesley murmured. Lorne hadn’t slept in a month? Without coffee? That was just creepy! “An empath demon deprived of sleep for that long…”

“What does that have to do with-”

“Shh!” I put a finger to Lorne’s mouth. “Let Wesley talk! He was getting to the good part!”

“… he could stop reading people’s futures, and start writing them!” Wesley flashed me a grateful smile. “Not to mention the possibility of his subconscious potentially manifesting…”

“Like the Incredible Hulk?” I frowned.

“Hey!” Lorne frowned at me.

“Potentially.” Wesley nodded.

“Alright.” Angel nodded. “Wes, Fred, go find Lorne’s sleep and figure out a way to put it back in his head.”  
“Yes, sir.” Wesley nodded. So English and proper. So attractive.

I should be proper too! I saluted. “Done and done-r!” I turned around and started staggering towards the office. Thankfully, Wesley slipped one arm around my waist and hoisted me up, helping me along. I smiled and slightly adjusted my arm’s position over his shoulder to help us walk along upright as best we could. I allowed myself the luxury of tuning out for a few minutes, keeping my eyes shut when we weren’t traversing stairs and giggling when Wesley adjusted my path, presumably - or perhaps presumally! - to keep me from walking into people. Or things. Or both!

“Psyche Component Storage.” Wesley said knowingly.

I blinked my eyes open and fought off a yawn, nodding. “This is the place.”

“Lorne’s sleep should be in here somewhere.” Wesley slowed to a stop and gently extracted his arm from mine. I reluctantly removed my arm from his shoulders and stretched, eyeing up the refrigerated storage. 

“They should have just mothballed this department, and put ice cream in the freezers.” I muttered. “How much better would that be?”

“Much much better.” Wesley agreed. “Although, if Lorne hadn’t had his sleep removed, he wouldn’t have convinced me to come… you and Sam would be having the time of your lives instead.”

I tried not to vomit at the thought of attending this party with _Sam._ Having to play along and pretend I was suckered by her good-girl act, chatting, acting like she wasn’t trying to ruin Wesley’s life. Until I had proof, these thoughts would need to be kept to myself. I smiled at Wesley. “I’m much happier that it’s you and me. I’m having _such _a great time right now! We should do stuff like this more often.” I wandered over to Wesley and leaned forwards, putting my hands on his shoulders for balance, maintaining my smile. Wesley deserved to be smiled at. I wanted him to see me smile at him. I wanted him to smile at me. “Hang out and spend time together like we used to! Best friend stuff!”

“Absolutely.” Wesley nodded, smiling. “Frankly, I… I always thought we’d be better friends than we are right now.”

“Absotively!” I nodded, giggling. “Better than… than best friends. How do we be better than best friends?” Besides the obvious thing. Which was looking more obvious and more obviously desirable by the minute. Hmm. I thought, not for the first time, about what Spike had said. Maybe he… maybe he hadn’t been _totally_ wrong. He was obviously wrong about Sam, because she was definitely evil, but maybe the stuff he’d said about Wesley… maybe he hadn’t been a million miles off the mark.

The feelings were just so very complicated. Because we’d been best friends for ages, and then we hadn’t been friends at all but we’d still looked out for each other (me looking out for him behind everyone else’s backs) and then we’d almost been more, we’d kissed and it had been _incredible_ but then I’d found out that he… that he’d been with Lilah.

That when we’d been chatting, talking, catching up… he’d been cavorting with her. The evilest person I knew (Sam potentially excepted). She’d hurt Cordelia so badly, tried to kidnap Connor, kill all of us, and not to mention her daily job was _bringing about the apocalypse._ He’d betrayed everyone by being with her. Not least of all himself. He was better than that. He’d been so much better. But… but maybe I’d overreacted. Because everyone made mistakes! And people who are alone, and hurting, who lost their friends and their purpose in life… they made bigger mistakes than normal people.

And Wesley cared about me. He was smart, kind, funny, affectionate, handsome… he was kind of perfect. Which was weird, come to think about it. Because if he was perfect, why hadn’t I done anything about it? When I was pretty sure that he - at least at one time, maybe not any more - had feelings for me. Even if he didn’t have feelings anymore, having them once meant he could have them again, right? 

And I really missed Wesley. Every day I saw less and less of him. I didn’t have someone to connect with, laugh with, talk theories with, share secrets with… I wanted to see more of him. No. I just wanted more. Full stop. And I… I think I wanted to kiss him again. I was pretty sure I wanted that.

I swallowed. “We should share stuff. Talk to each other more… about what we’re feeling. When we’re feeling it. What we want to do about it.” I kept smiling, swaying slightly where I stood, keeping a tight hold of him so I wouldn’t fall over.

“Yes, that would be… I would like that. Very much.” Wesley nodded, smiling right back at me. 

I began to buzz very pleasantly. And feel very pleasantly warm and tingly. Not the bad kind of prickly warm and tingly, but the… the good warmth and tingling. Warmth like cuddling next to a raging fire, tingling like you get before a first kiss. Or a second one.

“We could be confidantes.” I smiled at Wes, shrugging playfully. “Confiding… confidentially!”

“I actually did have something I wanted to ask you.” Wesley murmured softly, eyes alighting on mine. “I wanted to know… how you might feel. About a certain someone.” I felt a rush of warmth despite the chill of the room. He was so _adorable._ Asking how I might feel about a “certain someone”! Such a sweetheart. 

“What would this certain someone be like?” I grinned, bumping my nose against Wesley’s.

“They might be clever. And kind. Prone to moments of bravery. Good-looking.” I giggled. Wesley was certainly clever, impossibly kind, and definitely good-looking. Maybe more like great-looking… definitely more like great-looking. Wesley continued softly. “Someone you know, but who you’d probably like to get to know better.” Oh, I _definitely_ would. 

Who’d have thought Halloween would make for such a perfect opportunity to do so?  In a room full of refrigerators stuffed with mystical whats-its like Lorne's sleep, no less?

Focus, Fred. Focus on Wes. On his words, on his mouth, on those beautifully warm eyes…

“You just have to ask what I feel.” I smiled as widely as I possibly could, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him tighter. That should help encourage him. “Just ask how I feel.”

Wesley smiled and opened his mouth. I pressed a finger to his lips and his brow furrowed.

I pointed to the side of my head. “Whisper it in my ear.” I purred, tilting my head to one side and closing my eyes. I felt Wesley lean down, stubble brushing my cheek as his mouth moved to my ear, and I shivered very pleasantly. I wasn’t sure I was gonna be able to answer him before I kissed him. Or even wait for him to ask. Maybe I should just kiss him now…

No. I’d let him ask how I felt about him. Then I could answer by kissing him. Everyone was a winner!

I felt his mouth open, warm breath blowing over me. Oh God. I kept myself from shuddering in his arms and waited. “What do you think of Sam?”

The buzzing and warmth vanished.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“What do you think of Sam?” I whispered in her ear. Fred’s opinion mattered a great deal to me, and I… I wanted to know what she thought.

“What do you mean?”Fred drew back abruptly, eyebrows knitting together, wide smile replaced by a frown. “I barely know her. What do you… why do you want to know?”

“I know that… that there are signals.” I had no idea how to explain this without coming off as a total idiot. I was sure Fred would get it. She understood me. And she’d want to help me. We were best friends, after all. “Odourless, invisible, but…. They exist.”  
“Signals?” Fred’s eyebrows both rose slightly, frown deepening. God, I was explaining this terribly.

“I… you’re a woman.” I stated the obvious.  
“Right.” Fred continued to look distinctly unimpressed. “Signals?”

“Signals of affection!” I frowned. “Of… of attraction, of interest, of a… a desire perhaps, for something more… involved than friendship. But I… I’ve always been useless at this. I can’t tell if she’s… if Sam is just being her usual friendly, lovely self or if… if…”

“If she’s signalling.” Fred said quietly.

I nodded eagerly. “Yes. Please, Fred, help me.” Fred was my only hope. Besides if we were to be confiding confidentially, where better to start than with this?

“And are you asking because you’re… interested?” Fred’s eyes were fixed on my shoes. Had I spilt something on them? “Or because you’re not?”

Sam was… she was so special. She was funny, cute, sensitive, a pleasure to be around… the moments I spent with her were inevitably the highlight of my day. I had no idea how I’d have been able to stand working here without her to peek over my shoulder routinely to joke about ancient languages, or discuss mystical lore, share tea, eat meals together, travel to and from work together. She was at least the second most intelligent person I’d ever met, she was affectionate in a way that came across as effortless: like she cared about me. How I felt, what I thought, what I wanted… And she was so, so beautiful. Without trying, without knowing, certainly without believing. She seemed… perfect.

And lately, ever since we’d helped Nina, I’d felt like there’d been an undercurrent between us. Lingering touches. Cheek kisses. Occasional looks. Shy blushing on her part, and awkward stammering on mine. A sense that we were sharing far more of our lives than was normal for colleagues, or even close friends. An inescapable conclusion that Sam was a lot more affectionate with me than she was with anyone else, realisation on my part just how much I admired her, how worried I’d been when she’d got hurt, a sense that - not least with regards to our plans for tonight - Sam might want more. That a woman as perfect as that might have some feelings for me that went beyond the platonic. That Sam might be trying to tell me that. 

And that if she was, I had to do something about it. 

But I was so utterly clueless with regards to anything like this, that I needed help. From someone savvy. Experienced. Understanding. Not likely to mock me. Someone who wasn’t a gossip like Harmony or the girls in transcription. Someone who couldn’t possibly have any interest in me, who I could rely on as an impartial, platonic helper. I needed Fred.

“Actually, it doesn’t matter.” Fred frowned at me, and sighed. “You really need my help with this?”  
I nodded, abashed. “I’ve always been… useless at this.”

“You’ve never been able to see what’s right in front of you.” Fred rubbed my jaw affectionately and I shrugged apologetically. “You want to know what I think of her?”

“Yes, please.” I nodded.

“Wesley,” Fred said quietly. I raised an eyebrow. She paused a moment, then said, utterly deadpan. “She’s evil.”

I blinked, then laughed. “It’s really… really not fair of you to make fun of me at a time like this.”

“Wesley!” Fred sounded exasperated, but I knew she was having me on, teasing me, because nobody as smart as Fred could honestly believe that Sam was evil! She was… she was _Sam._ She shone with compassion, joy, vivacity, ingenuousness. “This is serious!”

“Stop, please!” I begged. “Fred, please, I need your help. Seriously.” I fixed my most sober expression on my face. “Please.”

“Well, I mean…” Fred stammered, looking around the room desperately. “She’s… she’s smart, obviously you know that, and she’s kind of funny and perky, bouncy and happy-go-lucky, and she seems like a lot of fun. You’ve got the mystical thing in common, and the tea, and-”

“Fred, you don’t need to convince me she’s great.” I smiled. Of course Fred was trying to make sure I saw how lucky I was, what a marvellous boon the universe had offered me, looking out for me to make sure I didn’t mess it all up. “But is she… do you think that Sam… signals?” I looked at her hopefully.

Her brown eyes were conflicted. Soft. Almost… vulnerable? She nodded briefly, abruptly twisting away from me. “There are signals.” Fred nodded, hands moving up to rub her face out of my sight. Her temples must ache too, same as mine. “Lo… lots of signals.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t imagining it. Thank God. Sam might be- 

“We need to find Lorne’s sleep.” Fred said quietly, walking quickly to one of the refrigerated storage units.

“Copy that, Ma’am.” I nodded, and went to help her.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

Lorne shifted slightly on the floor, mumbling to himself as his subconscious’ manifestation turned to vapour. “Just gonna rest my eyes a little bit…”

Over the course of a few seconds, I felt the fog clouding my mind clear away. I straightened up slightly, relieved to find I was no longer at risk of falling over. “Judicious marksmanship, Fred.” I nodded.

“The barrel was literally touching his head.” Fred shook her head and smiled, eyes shining. “How exactly could I have missed?”

“Precisely. Putting the barrel against his head was very judicious. Minimised the standard error.” I smiled. “It’s just good science.”

“Thanks.” Fred let out a breath. “Do you feel like sitting down? I think that dancing is catching up with me.”

I noticed the sudden ache in my legs and grimaced. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

Fred began making her way towards two chairs that had been left unscathed. I began to follow. “You two took your sweet time.” A beaten up looking Gunn muttered as I passed him. Well, being drunk didn’t exactly lend itself to swift completion of tasks.

Fred collapsed in a chair and rubbed her eyes. “God. I haven’t been that drunk since…”

“Our little get-together after we helped Nina?” I suggested.

Fred groaned, head sinking into her hands. “Oh God, don’t remind me.”

“I’ll never mention it again.” I chuckled. “Promise.”

“At least we didn’t get hangovers this time.” Fred sat up straight, smiling brightly.

I shrugged. “I never get hungover.”

Fred blinked, staring at me silently for a few seconds. “I’m so jealous.” She frowned at me.

I laughed. “My condolences.” 

There were a few seconds of companionable silence. I fetched water for us both and sat there, watching the party get cleared up efficiently. Most people had already left (presumably terrified away by Lorne’s monster of a subconscious) by the time we stepped in to save the day, which definitely made cleaning up easier. No stragglers to beat away.

Except us. I chuckled. “If you’d told me yesterday that I was going to be the last person left at this party, I’d have taken you to medical.”

Fred laughed softly. “Same here.”

“What a lovely night.” I smiled, closing my eyes and leaning backwards in my chair.

“I meant what I said.” Fred spoke quickly into the silence. I blinked my eyes open, turning to face her. Fred’s eyes were intense, fixed on me.

“You normally do.” I said hesitantly, trying to figure out what she was referring to.

“About being better friends.” Fred explained, smiling shyly. “I miss you and… and I want to spend more time with you than I have been. Just because we’re busy, doesn’t mean we have to neglect each other.”

“Hear, hear.” I nodded. “I miss spending time with you too. We should definitely spend more time together.” Fred was unfailingly wonderful to be around. Spending more time with her would be lovely.

“Shake on it?” Fred grinned, sticking out one hand. I shrugged, nodded, and shook her hand. 

“Do you think we could get away with taking the morning off?” I mused, rubbing my forehead. “I am far too tired to even think about working right now.”

“God, I hope so.” Fred nodded enthusiastically, then smiled, propping her chin on one hand. “You know what I could really do with?”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow, noting the bing of the lift doors opening.

“I’d really,” Fred smiled. “Really like to go get some break-”

“Hey! Morning, Fred! Good morning, Wesley!” 

“Sam!” I smiled, smoothing down my hair and smiling as she almost sprinted over from the lifts. “Good morning to you too.”

“Hello, Ms Jennings.” 

“Hi!” Sam beamed back at me, notepad clutched in one hand, golden hair cascading over her shoulders, green eyes sparkling, cheeks slightly flushed. “I fixed the grenade! Turns out there was a tiny flaw in the trigger that must have occurred when it was machined. The design was beautiful but there was a tiny tiny groove scarred across it that made it inoperable, super duper easy to miss if you didn’t have hours and hours to look for it! Anyway, it’s all fixed, and I’m really sorry it took so long… and I’m also really sorry because I just realised I interrupted you two while you were talking, so you probably want me to-” As Sam kept talking, her eyes had widened, probably worrying that she’d interrupted something.

I should set her mind at ease. “Don’t worry, we weren’t… you weren’t interrupting anything.” I smiled at Sam reassuringly. Just a conversation between friends. She looked excessively relieved. 

“Well, that’s a… phew.” Sam smiled, looking between me and Fred. “How was the party?”

“It was… an experience.” I looked to Fred.

“It sure was.” She shrugged. “You really had to have been there.”

“I’m very sorry you didn’t come. That is, I wish you were there, and I should have stood up to Lorne about it.” I tried to explain. “In my defence, Lorne forced me. Magically.”

“Lorne put the whammy on us?” Sam frowned, nose crinkling. She was inordinately cute. 

“He had his sleep removed a month ago.” I frowned.

“Oh, God.” Sam’s eyes widened. “No wonder he always had so much energy. And was acting occasionally maniacal. Did his subconscious manifest? Is everyone alright?”

“It did manifest.” Fred folded her arms. “We took care of it. Sent Lorne back to sleepy-land.”

“And everyone survived, two murdering demonic clients excepted.” I put in. 

“Sorry.” Sam smiled sheepishly. “I really wish I could have been there. Sounds like fun, and I might have been able to help!”

“I’m sure you would have come up with something brilliant.” I grinned. Sam flushed.

“If you thought that sounded fun, you should have seen the dance floor.” Fred smiled at me. “Right, Wes?”

“Oh God,” I groaned. “I’m sure I made an utter fool of myself, but I had fun doing it. Alcohol is a cursed thing.”

“And you don’t even get hangovers.” Sam winked at me. “Imagine how bad it is for the rest of us!”

“You’ve got me there.” I shrugged, chuckling.

“Wesley, we should start cleaning up.” Fred stood up and yawned. “So we can get out of this place. Maybe get some shut-eye.”

“Great idea!” Sam stuffed her notepad into her inside pocket. “I can help!” Fred looked less than thrilled at the prospect of cleaning up all of a sudden.

“You know,” I raised an eyebrow. “We do have a janitorial staff for a reason?”

Both of them frowned simultaneously. “Well, I-”

“Sure, but-”

“It serves nobody’s best interests for the two cleverest people in this building to spend their time cleaning up after a party.” I stood up, stretching and letting out a satisfied groan. “Fred, you go home and get that sleep you wanted. I think it’s best if I do the same, so that when the next crisis strikes we’re at least semi-functional.”

“Sure.” Fred frowned. “I… I guess that makes sense.”

Nobody moved.

“Are you still suffering some after-effects?” I frowned at Fred. “Do you feel unsteady? It might be because you drank in addition to suffering from Lorne’s powers. Sam, what was the percentage of alcohol present in that drink which you-”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Fred nodded vigorously. “I’ll just be… not here. Bye Wes! See you this afternoon?” She half-smiled.

“Count on it.” I nodded. “Late lunch?”

“Sounds peachy.” Fred nodded, smiled at me one last time, and began to walk towards the lifts.

“Fred!” Sam called out. Fred looked over her shoulder, raising one eyebrow. “I love your outfit. You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” Fred frowned thoughtfully, and departed.

“I really am sorry you couldn’t get to the party, Sam.” I gestured to one chair and sat down in the other once the lift doors had closed behind Fred, picking up one of the untouched beers. “I’m sure you would have had fun.”

“Well, I got to fix a magic grenade, so that was pretty cool as well.” Sam shrugged, then swallowed. “I just kind of… wish you’d been there, too. Drinking tea alone really isn’t what it used to be…”

“I couldn’t agree more.” I smiled. “I wish you were here as well. I think we would have had a wonderful evening. And I’m sure you would have looked beautiful.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Sam blushed, studying the floor intensely. “But umm… you know… I mean, next to _Fred_… speaking of, why aren’t you going home? Not that I want you to, I just thought since you told Fred you were going, you were gonna-”

“Fred needs sleep. And she would have never have left to get some if she thought I was going to stay a second longer.” I put one finger to my lips and fixed Sam with a pleading look. “Our secret?” Sam made a show of locking her mouth shut and tossing away the key. I chuckled.

“I was thinking about going home too…” Sam pulled her notebook out of her pocket, reading one of the pages before swallowing and beginning to fidget with her bookmark. “Getting some sleep, the night’s not so young anymore and it was a… a stupid idea anyway, I should just-”

“None of your ideas have _ever_ been stupid, Sam.” I smiled. “Hit me.”

“Oh.” Sam bit her lower lip, making eye contact. “Well, umm… can I have that drink please?”  
“Sure.” I passed her my glass, raising an eyebrow. I raised it further when she downed the drink in one go. “Was… that your idea?” I asked hesitantly.

“No, that was for courage. Bleh.” Sam blinked. “It didn’t work. Oh well, how-do-you-feel-about-breakfast?” 

It took me a few seconds to rewind Sam’s exceptionally fast speech to identify the question. What an odd question. “It’s the most important meal of the day?” I answered slowly.

“No, I meant…” Sam swallowed and smiled at me nervously. “With me. Like, right now.”

“Oh.” I blinked. That looked rather like a signal. I thought for a second. I smiled at Sam as widely as I could. “Very excited. And quite impatient.”

“Really?!” Sam’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh alright, wow! That actually worked. Wow. Umm. Can I have like fiveminutes to brush my hair and do my makeup and also maybe try to think of some clever things to say?”

“Hmm.” It was hard to imagine Sam being any more beautiful than she was at this moment, hair shining gold in the morning sunlight, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes sparkling, smile broad. Still, where was the harm in it? “I think I can wait that long. But only just.” 

Sam giggled, smile widening. “Amazing! Great! Just, umm…” Sam tapped me on the chest with one finger, blushing. “Wait right there okay? And, umm, don’t move!”

“For five whole minutes?” I grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Sam laughed. “Please. Byebye! See you really soon!” Sam sprinted halfway across the lobby, spun round to wave and blow me a kiss, then sprinted the rest of the way out.

I smiled and waited a second to make sure she wasn’t coming back, then sprinted into my office. I had to find that hairbrush. And some aftershave.

And think of some clever things to say.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I’d said I was going to go home and get some shut-eye, but I was so _hungry. _I’d barely managed to sneak in a quick sandwich for dinner, I’d been on my feet all night, and it was past breakfast time. So after I’d gone back to my office to change back into normal clothes, I’d decided to go to my favourite coffee shop / diner on the way home to grab a snack. A couple of blocks from Wolfram and Hart, amazing coffee and milkshakes, delightfully fancy (but still tasty!) little breakfast snacks, and wonderful little booths and furnishings. Of course, I wasn’t going to sit in and eat this time: just grabbing a sandwich, maybe some warm milk (the staff knew me by now, and hopefully wouldn’t judge me) to eat on my way home. I had to take Wesley here at some point for coffee, I’d complimented the place to him a couple of times _before_, so it would really make sense to take him here so he knew I wasn’ttalking up some run-of-the-mill coffee shop.

I walked through the door and breathed in the delightful aroma of coffee beans and food as I strode over to the counter and stood in line. A smile rose on my face unbidden at the thought I’d get to have lunch with Wesley later today. I certainly wasn’t going to _kiss_ him (I cringed as I always did at my drunken self’s strange and irrational fixation on Wesley) but I did miss him and I definitely wanted to see more of him. Plus, it meant I might be able to rescue him from Sam’s company for at least a few minutes.

I was two places from the front of the line when I heard an all-too-familiar giggle cut through the low chattering of the room. What was Sam doing here? I turned my head slightly to look at where the sound had come from without being obvious and froze. Sitting in one of the booths by the window, smiling at each other over a table piled with dozens of different breakfast treats were Sam and… and…

Sam and Wesley.

That… that didn’t make any sense. Wesley had told me he was going home to get some sleep, so he… he couldn’t possibly be sitting here. In this restaurant I’d talked to him about previously as somewhere we should definitely go together. Sitting across from Sam, smiling at her, eyes not moving from her face. His shoes couldn’t be subtly kicked off on the floor under his table, his feet gently rubbing - in a faux casual way - against hers under the table. Wesley couldn’t be holding out a spoon of something delicious-looking that Sam was leaning in to eat. His hand definitely couldn’t be resting partially on top of hers on the table, awkwardly positioned in the only space free of dishes. He couldn’t be laughing at something Sam had evidently just said. But he was all of those things.

Wesley had lied to me.

He’d got rid of me purposefully… to spend time with _Sam._

My stomach twisted and I felt bitter, hot, anger flood through me. The nerve. On _both of them._ Him for pretending to care about me so he could get rid of me, lying through his teeth that he was also going to get some sleep, and on her for being a shameless, evil, witch! I suddenly had no desire for coffee whatsoever. Or for a late lunch today.

I turned on my heel and swept out of the coffee shop, feeling a strange sense of relief that they hadn’t seen me. As I left, I caught a glimpse of the expression on Sam’s face. She looked so, so happy.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I rapped on my office door lightly with my foot, smiling.

“Come in!” Sam’s voice floated out.

I pushed the door open and stuck my head in, holding up my two china cups of tea. “Room service?” I did my best attempt at a winning smile.

“Well, it’s about time!” Sam smiled - one certainly far more winning than mine - and patted my chair, which she was sitting next to. “I was getting lonely.”

“Well, I’m not sure tea can help with that.” I murmured, sitting down beside her and putting down my cup.

“Tea fixes everything.” Sam mock frowned, eyes sparkling. “What kind of lousy Englishman are you to say otherwise?”

I hesitated. “The thoughtful kind?”

“That’s fair.” Sam smiled. “I was gonna go with _handsome,_ but…”

“Oh, it’s a good thing I stopped you then.” I blew on the cup of tea I was still holding, then lifted it slowly to Sam’s mouth so she could take a sip. When she was mid-sip, I continued. “Because if you had, I would have had to say you looked absolutely radiant.”

Sam spluttered, as I knew she would, but managed to keep most of the tea in her mouth, cheeks reddening. I maintained my smile and put down the cup in front of her. “That’s great tea.” Sam said weakly.

“Thank you.” I smiled, leaning in slightly. “Would you like to know my secret?”

“Yes, please.” Sam leaned in, swallowing. I leaned in slightly further, putting my mouth to her ear and bumping my shoe lightly against her socked foot under the desk. 

“Honey.” I paused. “Honey instead of sugar.”

Sam nodded. “Hmm.”

“Does that make sense,” I paused. “Honey?” Sam nodded, cheeks going quite a bit pinker than their usual shade.

“Glad to hear it.” I smiled, gently kicking off my own shoes under the desk and rubbing my foot gently against hers. “Now…” I gently positioned my hand so that my fingers ever so lightly rested on the back of her hand where it rested on the folder on my desk. “What’s this delightful new case file you’re hiding from me?”

“I’m not sure I want to tell you right now.” Sam smiled shyly, sipping her tea and not breaking eye contact.

I raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re in such a good mood.” Sam sighed. “And you’re putting _me_ in such a good mood, and once I open this folder you’re not gonna be in a good mood anymore…”

“Sam,” I lowered my voice. “Today, _nothing_ could spoil my good mood.”

Sam flushed and smiled broadly. “I’m… I’m just happy I got to use your gift from Halloween.”

“Mmm.” I didn’t bother trying to hide my rakish smile at the memory of how incredible Sam had looked in her leather jacket and trousers, or how cute she’d looked when she’d flushed bright pink after I complimented her about it. “I think that was as much a gift for me as for you.”

“So sneaky.” Sam smiled, flicking my nose. “Spoken like a true Wolfram and Hart Executive.”

“Well, as a Wolfram and Hart Executive, I’m ordering you to show me what’s in that folder right now, Miss Jennings.” I dropped my voice. “Or else.”

“What are you gonna do,” Sam smirked. “Liquify me?”

“Only _part_ of you.” I delighted in how fast Sam’s smirk gave way to an embarrassed smile, complete with wide eyes and stammering.

“Oh, I, um, here you go.” Sam flipped open the folder.

I blinked. “Three people had their hearts cut out in East LA in the last few hours?”

“Happy November second!” Sam smiled hesitantly.

“Happy November second to you too.” I sighed. “I’d better get right on this.”

“Don’t worry.” Sam turned the page just as I reached the end of it, then leaned further over the desk so several waves of golden hair came to rest on my chest. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“That is what we do.” I shifted my position slightly so my hand rested almost fully over hers, shooting her a quick glance to make sure she didn’t mind.

Judging by her smile, she really, really didn’t. I was starting to very much like November second.

I had even higher hopes for November third.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Twenty-eight hours. It had been twenty-eight hours since I’d caught Wesley and Sam _fraternising_ at the coffee shop that _I’d told him about_ and they were still acting… acting like… 

She was still trying to put the moves on him. Except now she was being utterly blatant. I hadn’t quite been able to tear my eyes away. Her tricking Wesley into making tea for her, him knocking on the door with his foot because both hands were full with tea cups: the nice, non-disposable, china ones with little saucers he only brought out for special occasions. Then he’d gone in and she’d convinced him to sit next to her, forced him to put his hand on top of hers, blushed like abride at almost everything he said - the exact details of which were unknown to me, but doubtless comprised shameless flirting from her side and polite responses from Wesley - and started playing footsie with him under the table! In a work environment! It was completely, utterly inappropriate for her to act like that with her boss! I should walk in there right now and fire her.

No. It would be better to go to Angel. Get him to do it. Lay out my arguments, convince him of Sam’s true - horrifyingly malevolent - nature and have him fire her. And maybe exile her from California. Make it clear that she was to keep her evil, manipulative, expertly manicured hands off of my Wesley! Our Wesley. Our friend, Wesley, who she was… she was trying to _seduce._ Not that it would work. Because Wesley was smart. Smarter than her, and he would see through her act, understand that I hadn’t been joking, that Sam was evil, and he should never associate with her, not at work, not at parties, not socially, not anywhere! I had to stop her. Before it was too late, and she tricked Wesley into doing whatever she wanted him to do and broke his heart, or hurt him, or tried to kill him or…

There wasn’t much time. I had to start moving. Things had to be set in motion. This grotesque scheme of hers had progressed far enough. I was not taking it anymore.

“FRED!” I jumped, spinning round to see Lorne rushing down the stairs, clutching two birthday cards, slightly panicked expression on his face. “Thank God, I need your help. You’re… sort of like a woman.”

Lorne! That was perfect! I could help him, he could help me, we could figure out a way to break through whatever complex mojo Sam must have worked to hide her true nature from his powers, he’d sign off on her malevolence and together we could get Angel and Wesley to-

_Sort of_ like a woman?

I glared daggers at Lorne. Or at least, I tried to. I’d never tried glaring daggers before, but today I was really in the mood for glaring daggers. “That is _not_ a compliment.”

Lorne flinched, wincing, both hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I only had sixteen hours sleep this month!” He smiled in an attempt at disarmament. I maintained my facial expression. Lorne decided to press on. “I need some insight. You’re an ageing sexpot celebrating a decade of turning twenty-nine. You got two kids that aren’t so little, a disloyal husband, and gravity is doing you no favours. Sexy Soccer Moma or Brainy Beauty?” He clasped both hands together in a symbol for prayer.

I turned away from Lorne, checking up on Sam. Phew. She hadn’t gotten anywhere. They were just reading a file. That was fine. Everything was fine. I mean, _their hands were still touching_, but that could be dealt with. I was on it. “No card. Don’t mention her birthday. Send a big bunch of flowers, because she’s special and perfect.”

“Genius.” Lorne shook his head. “And you’re a lot like a woman. You’re every woman! You’re Wonder Woman!”

“Yeah, well, Wonder Woman needs a hand.” I gripped my pen slightly more tightly as I saw Wesley - it must have been on her request, he wouldn’t do it otherwise - casually brush some of Sam’s long, flowing, golden, Rapunzel-esqe out of his way behind her shoulders, and witnessed Sam shoot him a disgustingly forward smile in response. “Really needs a hand.” I turned back to Lorne, who had adopted a sage expression. He nodded in Sam’s direction and raised an eyebrow questioningly. I nodded eagerly in response.

Had he already had suspicions about her? Maybe something had felt off when he read her aura. Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect! I’d have her gone by the end of the day. No, before then. Before dinner.

“Confab in my office?” Lorne almost whispered. I nodded eagerly - wishing I’d had the foresight to post an intern here to shadow Sam’s movements, I’d have to do that later - and followed him to his office. “Take a seat.” Lorne gestured. I sat down in one of the guest chairs, put down my folders - all science nonsense completely irrelevant to this crucial situation - on the other guest chair and sat forwards. 

“How long have you had suspicions?” I demanded. This was important business. We’d need every detail, every fragment of knowledge to unravel Sam’s beautifully spun web of deceit. 

“What a question.” Lorne hummed, leaning forwards in his chair. I leaned forwards too. It seemed the thing to do. “I’d say… are we talking hunch or certainty?”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Lorne was _certain._ He was _certain_ Sam was evil! This was everything I needed, this was perfect, this was the moment, our chance for a coup de maître! “Let’s just say hunch for now.”

“Hmm…” Lorne rubbed his chin, smiling almost apologetically. He didn’t need to be sorry he hadn’t come to me sooner, he’d come now. That would be good enough. Enough to stop her. It had to be. “I’d say… going on a year and three quarters.”

“Alright, so a lot of…” I blinked. That didn’t make any… he hadn’t even known Sam for… we’d only been here a month and a half, what had… “Huh?”

“Thought it was less time?” Lorne scoffed. “Please. I know you two like the back of my hand. If I knew the back of my hand as well as I knew two of my best amigos.”

“Wait, Lorne, take a step back.” I frowned. “You’ve got mixed up.”

Lorne shook his head sadly. “I really haven’t.”

I pushed on. “I’m here because I need your help!” I paused. “One of our employees is seriously evil. We’re talking… Lilah Morgan, Holland Manners, _Professor Seidel_ levels of evil! This is a ten on the evil villain scale, and you can bet that scale is logarithmic!”

Lorne’s face was suddenly all business. “I would have seen it when I read them.”

“Yes, but she’s smart!” I groaned, rubbing my forehead, frustration burning me up from the inside it. It was definitely frustration that I was feeling. Frustration, anger, definitely not je-

I wasn’t even going to think it.

“At least, by Wolfram and Hart standards.” I amended. “I mean we’re not talking like… it’s beside the point, she’s a mystical expert, she knew you were coming, she’d know an exploit to lock you out and she’s a trained actor! Thwarting us on every dimension of detection!”

“Alright. Take this hypothetical person. Let’s call them…” Lorne shrugged. “I don't know, Tammy. If she’s such a genius, how’d you figure it out?”

“Because I’m not reliant on magic or social cues, I’m a scientist, I trust the evidence, I use the scientific method!” When had I started yelling? It felt kind of good. I toned it down a little bit anyway. I needed to impress the importance of the situation, not come off as crazy.

Which I wasn’t. At all.

“And she’s… she’s just so obviously playing it up!” A tidal wave of memories of Sam doing exactly that crashed into me and I shuddered, feeling horrible hot pins and needles pricking into me all over. I stood up and began to pace, continuing my logical, reasoned, entirely fact-based argument. “With the curly hair, the silly nickname, the obviously faked rambling, the chirpyness, the bubbly-ness, I mean _nobody_ who works for Wolfram and Hart is that happy. And I’m not even going to talk about the affected shyness and cutesy-ness, with the false nervousness because it is quite literally _sickening. _She makes me feel sick to my stomach, and if that’s not a sign I don’t know what is! And then there’s the outfits and the shameless flirting which she does under this guise of being nervous to manipulate people and draw them in and the… and the… she’s evil, I’m telling you, she _has to be evil!” _I was gasping for air, staring at Lorne imperiously. There was no way he could overturn all those arguments.

Lorne shook his head, still looking… sympathetic? If he saw where I was coming from, why wasn’t he helping? Lorne made eye contact, his eyes warm and soft. Kindly. “Honey, I don’t even know where to start with that sentence and I used to read destinies for a living.” Lorne paused, then sighed. “Maybe instead of trying to have me read Sammy’s heart, you should try taking a very close look at your own.”

“Aha!” I whirled to face him, pointing at him triumphantly. “You knew exactly who I was talking about! You suspect she’s evil too!” I blinked, trying to process what Lorne had said. What did he mean, have a close look at my heart? My _heart_ \- which for the record is an organ involved with pumping blood to the lungs and then around the body, and has nothing to do with love and/ or physical attraction to others which I definitely had not been thinking about recently - had no impact whatsoever on whether Sam was evil or not (which she definitely was).

“Even our boss,” Lorne paused for emphasis. “Angel. King of the Grumps, Lord of the Broods, likes Sam. He referred to her as _endearing. _And, trust me, I have read her more than anyone else in this building. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and it is a beautiful thing.”

“I told you, she’s faking it!” I groaned: why did nobody else get it? It was plain as day! “Acting classes along with the files Wolfram and Hart has on us taught her how to ingratiate herself with Angel, and she worked some kind of evil spell - most likely involving kitten, virgin, and child sacrifices - to block your reading. I explained all this!”

“Hmm.” Lorne looked unconvinced. What was it going to take? Did I have to attach her to the biometric lie detector in the lab and hit her with a thousand questions until she broke? Actually, that didn’t sound too… no, she’d probably know how to beat one of those. Gah! She was the worst human being in every possible way! Lorne spoke slowly and hesitantly like I was some tantruming child to be calmed down (and he was still skating on thin ice after that ‘sorta like a woman’ comment, so this was a bad, _bad_ move for him on a _very_ bad day for me). “Maybe start by considering whether you’re really angry at Sam or… y’know-”

“I’m not angry at her, this is not some kind of personal vendetta!” I fought the urge to explode, slamming both hands down on Lorne’s desk. “She’s evil!”

“Nothing to do with Wesley being surprisingly chipper recently?” Lorne raised an eyebrow. I mean, Wesley starting to fall under her spell had just been the final trigger that caused me to take action since it had become clear Wesley couldn’t handle her on his own (which he could have done _easily_ if he’d followed my advice when I told him to tell _her_ to step right off _weeks_ ago!). It’s not like I was annoyed or jea- “And going out to breakfast with a certain someone?” Lorne raised his other eyebrow.

No. He was wrong. I wasn’t… it wasn’t that… I didn’t… “It’s because she’s evil…” I hadn’t meant for my voice to come out as a whisper, but it had. That was strange. I sank into my chair. “She is, she has to be, she must be, I… there’s no other explanation for the way she makes my blood boil un… unless…”

Lorne smiled sadly. “Unless the hunch I got one and three-quarter years ago was correct? My hunch concerning a certain lovely southern scientist, and a particular English gentleman?”

“But I…” I swallowed. “I mean… I’ve been a little bit jealous of Sam because she gets to spend to much time with him - because Wesley’s my best friend, you know he’s my best friend, and so does he, doesn’t he? - but I… if Sam isn’t evil then… then I wouldn’t feel this jealous of her just because she’s befriended Wesley, or even because she’s flirting with Wesley… and… and he’s flirting back unless…”

Lorne stayed silent.

“Unless I would rather Wesley was flirting with me?” I said quietly, looking at Lorne. He nodded gravely.

The realisation hit me like a hammer. 

Sam wasn’t evil. Not in the slightest. Sam had never done _anything_ to make me believe she was evil. She’d been nothing but sweet, understanding, and unfailingly nice to me (as well as everyone else) even when I’d treated her like a bitch. I’d never seen her fight with anyone, or put a foot wrong or even _raise her voice._ She wasn’t “putting on” being any of her admirable, attractive qualities… she just had those qualities. And I’d lied to myself day after day, convinced myself she was evil because… because I didn’t want to face up to the real reason I couldn’t stand her, because I’d been lying to myself about my feelings for Wesley for so long that I couldn’t just accept that the reason I couldn’t stand Sam was because she was clearly in love with Wesley, and I was jealous that she got to spend so much time with him… and I was jealous that something seemed to be blossoming between them. 

Because _I _was in love with Wesley. I loved how smart he was, the way he challenged and inspired me. I loved his dry wit, that perfect blend of heroic bravery and lovable dorkishness that made him a joy to be around. How much he cared about everyone. About me. And I loved spending time with him, talking to him, and whenever I got drunk and my filter blew out I wanted to kiss him and…

Oh, God. They’d had breakfast. And they were in his office, flirting, and playing footsie and-

I was too late. 

“Hold it right there, Sugar Plum.” Lorne raised one finger. “It’s not too late. Not yet.”

“It’s not?” I breathed, feeling my spirits soar. “But aren’t they-”

“Not yet.” Lorne shook his head firmly. “Nothing yet. It’s still very much… exploratory. And not in the ah… you know what I mean. It’s all tentative. Not yet manifest.”

“But he likes her.” I looked at Lorne pleadingly. “I… you should hear the way he talks about her.”

Lorne snorted. “He loves _you_.”

“But if he does, then why would he…” I cut myself off and swallowed. “Because he’s been waiting two years and I’ve let nothing happen?”

Lorne nodded. “But if you tell Wesley that the way you feel about him isn’t the way you thought you felt, that you’re seeing him in a different light…” Lorne snapped his fingers. “Like magic. Trust me.”

“Are you sure?” I swallowed. Because seeing them together, it was… it was awful. Unbearable. I felt so unbelievably jealous, angry, and alone and… and like I wanted to be with Wesley.

“Completely.”

“I have to tell him.” I stood up. “I have to find him, ask him out for dinner, find some way to-”  
“Cool it.” Lorne said warningly. 

I frowned at him. “But you just said… that I had to make the first move. Because Wesley won’t, not now, and there’s no time to waste with Sam-”

“Agreed.” Lorne nodded. “But I’d postulate that barging into Wesley’s office with Sam right there and confessing your feelings is probably not the best way to do this?”

My stomach sank again: he was right. That would be awful. And they worked together all day almost every day! They travelled to and from work together, ate meals together, took breaks together… the chances of me managing to snatch a moment with Wesley away from her were practically nil. Especially after they went out for breakfast. If I was Sam, I wouldn’t want to leave Wesley’s side right now. 

“Then what do I do?” I asked Lorne. “Please, I’m terrible at this.”

“Fortunately for both of us.” Lorne grinned. “I had the good fortune to hear the very rare specimen of a Wesley Wyndam-Pryce song earlier this morning.”

“What did you see?” I demanded.

“A brief rocky patch of indeterminate nature. A lot of happiness following it. Of the romantic, indescribably intense variety. Wesley is going to be happier than I’ve ever seen him very, very soon.” Lorne winked at me and I flushed. “And more imminently? An opportune moment for you to talk to him. Ask him out to dinner. I don’t know.”

“So I’m supposed to just wait?” I shook my head. “No! No, I’ve wasted too much time, Sam already has a major head start on me, I can’t just sit around waiting for a perfect opportunity to tell Wesley how I feel!”

“Three.” Lorne held up three fingers. “Two. One…”

There was a knock at the door. I turned around to see the door opening. There was Wesley. Alone. “Good morning, you two.” Wesley smiled brightly. “Lovely to see you both.”

“Great to see you too!” I felt my heart begin to race, a wide smile making its entrance. “Wesley, I am so, so sorry I missed lunch yesterday!” God, why had I done something that stupid? Why had it taken Lorne to make me realise the truth? Why had I left myself with so little time to fix things?

“That’s in the past.” Wesley closed the door and stepped inside. “Lorne, can I borrow Fred a moment?”

“Go right ahead.” Lorne leaned back in his chair and smiled smugly, all but winking at me. God, I loved Lorne’s powers.

“Well, it’s not exactly a relaxing lunch,” Wesley grinned cockily - he looked so handsome - and handed me a file. “But I have a meeting with a black market arms dealer tonight.”

“Right, the modified TS-113 sniper rifles.” I nodded as I flipped open the file.

“Yes, with that exceptionally clever Bylantine energy charge you designed.” Wesley nodded. “I’m trying to make a sale tonight. I could really use someone who can explain the weapon convincingly, someone I can trust to have my back… and someone that an idiot might be inclined to underestimate.”

I smiled. “I really can’t express how happy I am to help out.”

“Amazing. Thank you.” Wesley smiled crookedly. “I’ll owe you one.”

“Pfft.” I waved a hand. “Call it even for helping me with Spike.”

“You do realise the meeting is in the middle of the night?” Wesley grinned.

“Hmm.” I mock frowned, rubbing my chin. “Because I never have to stay up late in my super-easy job. I can feel my enthusiasm bleeding away.”

“How about I’ll pay for coffee afterwards and we’ll call it even?” Wesley raised an eyebrow.  
“Sounds perfect.” I beamed. “If you let my buy you takeout at the same time.”

“I suppose, if it has to be done, for the good of all evildoers everywhere…” Wesley smirked.

I laughed. “What time should we meet up in advance, y’know to discuss strategy, get a car ready…”

  
“Check the merchandise is working properly?” Wesley suggested innocently. “For science?”

“Yes, you can play with my shiny new toy.” I smiled.

“Thanks.” Wesley grinned. “I will… leave you and Lorne to finish your important meeting, check my office planner, and call you to pencil in our meeting time?”

“Great!” I smiled. “Thanks for trusting me with this, Wes. I know there’s lots of people you could go to.”

“There’s nobody I’d rather have watching my back.” Wesley smiled gratefully. “See you around.”

“Count on it!” I nodded as he left.

“Do I get to say, ‘I told you so’?” Lorne unveiled his own crooked smile.

“Just this once.” I smiled giddily. 

“I told you so.” Lorne stood up walked around the table and put one hand on my shoulder. “Now, I’m about to give you the most important instructions you’ll ever hear.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

“Go get ‘im, tiger.” Lorne smiled. “Trust me, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce won’t even know what hit him.”


	6. Old Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this - exams etc. did a number on me. Hope you enjoy it now!

**Wesley**

Fred had been hurt. Because of me. Bleeding out, lying on the floor, shot…

“I’m just so glad you’re alright,” Sam murmured from behind me, hand resting feather-light on my shoulder for a brief moment before she pulled away. “And I’ve been nagging medical constantly for updates on Fred. Last I heard, she’d been discharged and they said she was absolutely fine, no chance of any complications, given the absolute all clear.”

“Good.” I nodded slowly, staring out the window. I sighed and rested my forehead on the glass. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, of course.” I felt Sam’s hand come to rest on my shoulder, more securely this time, and squeeze gently. I turned my head to face her, hovering at my shoulder, emerald eyes darting, hesitant, nervous. “And you’re sure you didn’t get shot?”

“Absolutely sure.” I nodded.

“And the, the grappling hook didn’t cut you anywhere?” Sam chewed her lower lip. “Because we have no idea where that thing’s been, and you could have an infection, and-”

“I’m not hurt.” I made an attempt at a reassuring smile. Sam appeared un-reassured. The only person who’d been hurt was Fred. Which was on me. She wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t asked her to accompany me, would never have set foot in that warehouse if I hadn’t brought her in to do a job one of her employees could easily have done…

Angel had been right. I should have kept her safe. I’d failed. Like always.

“I was so worried when I heard the meeting had gone wrong, and I couldn’t get ahold of you, and all I knew was that someone was injured, and…” Sam swallowed, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment. “I was really worried about you.” She almost whispered.

“I’m sorry.” I sighed, running one hand through my hair. “I wasn’t thinking. I should have called. I was just… in the heat of the moment…”

“Your best friend got shot, Wesley.” Sam squeezed my shoulder. “Of course you had more important things on your mind. But, in future… maybe try not to do that again?”

“Escape unharmed?” I attempted a smile.

Sam shook her head, a tiny smile emerging. “Almost get hurt?”

“I swear I’ll try.” I nodded.

Sam smiled gratefully, then frowned slightly. “You shouldn’t feel bad about Fred.” Sam said quietly. “I mean, remember how she handled herself on that trip to Nina’s house!”

“When you both got knocked unconscious because I wasn’t-”

“When she took down four guys like they were made of paper and nearly salvaged the entire operation while me and the werewolf stood there helplessly?” Sam interrupted me. “Wesley, she knows what she’s doing. She saved the world, she survived in Pylea for five years, she can handle herself.”

It was still my fault. I hummed noncommittally.

“Ooh.” Sam perked up visibly. “I know what’ll cheer you up! Let me just run to my office and grab it! You stay right there!” She squeezed my shoulder one final time and sprinted out of the room. I rubbed my eyes and sighed. I’d have to leave Sam a note, because I couldn’t stay here, I had to find Fred and beg for forgiveness for my-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I rapped gently on the door to Wesley’s office and stepped in, smiling and nudging it closed behind me. “Good evening! They gave me the all clear.”

Wesley turned around to face me, face haggard. Wow. He had not gotten eight hours sleep last night. One benefit of bullet wounds and medical anaesthetic was that you got a lot of sleep, so I was feeling pretty energised. He looked worried. I could set his mind at ease. “I was just coming down to find you.” Wesley said quietly, rubbing his forehead.

“Though I do have to take a boatload of antibiotics. Apparently, there’s some concern about where that grappling hook’s been.” I gave a mock shudder “Do you like my sling? Afraid this one you can’t sign, but maybe you could sign the TS-113 instead? A memento?”

“I’m sorry about what happened, Fred.” Wesley said, voice still quiet, not making eye contact.

“Hey.” I walked up to hand and put my good hand under his chin, tilting his head up to look at me properly. I smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I mean, I’m only sorry because I missed out on dinner afterwards like we said we were gonna have because I was whacked out in a bed upstairs, dreaming incredibly _weird_ dreams about sheep. How about, after we finish taking this cyborg apart, we can-”

“It’s my fault, I-”

“_I,_” I interrupted him, smiling exasperatedly. Wesley had a tendency to blame himself for everything. Where did he get it from? Was it an English thing? Or a hero thing? “Was useless, and didn’t even manage to hide properly. Or think to use my high-tech high-powered rifle to punch a big old hole in that cyborg ninja.”

We really had to stop talking about this _quickly_. If I let him keep talking about the incident at the warehouse, he’d keep blaming himself, corner himself in a cesspool of guilt and I wouldn’t get a chance to take him out to dinner and… and tell him how I felt. It felt really weird thinking that. Even though I did want to tell him how I felt. Although I wasn’t entirely sure how I did feel. I wanted to spend more time with him, and he was handsome, and wonderful, and my best friend, and I wanted more but… but how did I articulate that? Especially with Sam ready to materialise at any moment, I couldn’t bear to try anything in front of her - or where she might walk in on us - not when I’d already been such a-

“_I_ should have done a better job protecting you.” Wesley shook his head firmly and folded his arms. “My fault, end of story.”

I blinked. I must have misheard him. He could _not _have just suggested what I thought he’d just suggested. He had _not_ just implied that I was helpless, or weak, or-

“That came out wrong.” Wesley muttered, looking away. “I just meant-”

“Do you realise how patronising that sounds?” I shook my head. “Protecting me? I don’t need protection, I’ve been on this team for years, I survived on my own in-”

“I just meant you shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Wesley said quickly.

Oh, he wasn’t done digging, then?

“That is not for you to decide.” I pointed out, taking a step forwards after him.

“Yes, actually-” Wesley began to interrupt me and I felt a flash of anger overtake me. No. I was not some… some damsel! I did _not_ need his protection, or anyone else’s! I was independent, I was strong, and I would _not_ stand for this!

“I am _not_ your precious Sammy.” I narrowed my eyes at him and Wesley flinched. “I don’t need to be protected like some… some storybook princess!”

Wesley avoided eye contact, fixing his gaze on a point above one of my shoulders. “Fred-”

“Oh! Oh, _Wesley_,” I adopted a falsetto tone, not averting my gaze like he had. I was not backing down. Not when it came to what I was capable of. I was _not_ some damsel in distress, and I would not be treated like one. Especially not by Wesley. “I’m so shy and awkward, I need to have a little drink for courage before I ask, would you please please _please_ come out to breakfast with me? Let me bat my eyelashes at you to help me decide!”

“Fred!” His voice rose, but he still didn’t make eye contact, shaking his head. Oh, I was poking a nerve, was I? Making a good point? “Sto-”

“Wesley, Wesley look at _me_ I did a translation all by myself!” I dropped the falsetto voice and raised my eyebrows at an aghast-looking Wesley. “So needy and childish, attention-seeking! And don’t even get me _started_ on the way she acts around you. All the _frowning_ and the _pouting_ with the tarty lipstick, bending down to pick up things she’s dropped on the floor in those extra-short skirts, leaning over your desk in those low-cut tops, brushing up against you constantly, could she be any more shameless? _Begging_ you to coddle her and spend all your time with her, what is she, five years old, because she could have fooled me!”

“FRED!” Wesley almost roared, eyes still not meeting mine. He began to walk forwards. What, he wasn’t even going to respond?

Was that… was that whimpering coming from behind me? I turned on one heel. Sam was right behind me. Trembling like a leaf in the doorway, eyes wide and damp, clutching something to her chest. My heart dropped right into my stomach, which fell into my feet. No, I didn’t… I hadn’t wanted to hurt her, I’d… I’d been angry at Wesley, not at-

I began to talk as fast as I could. “Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

She spun around and ran out of the office, sobbing softly, the card she’d been holding falling to the floor of the office, open. I stared numbly at the words ‘Get better soon, Fred!’, written on the inside in loopy handwriting, the whole thing dotted with little doodled hearts. Oh God. I had to go after her and apologise, I had to-

Wesley was already past me, heading for the door and I scrambled after him, running straight into his back when he stopped suddenly, feeling pain flare up in my shoulder at the collision. I winced, and stumbled away from him, shielding my arm. “Wesley, what-”I looked up to see Wesley standing dead still in front of me, an elderly gentleman in a suit standing in the doorway.

“I must say, nicely done Wesley.” The man stepped in (Wesley backing up as he did so), speaking in an upper-class English accent that sounded awfully familiar to… no. Surely he couldn’t be- “That poor girl appears quite inconsolable. You’re taking to evil very well.”

“Hello, Father.” Wesley said quietly. I stepped out from behind him, looking his father up and down. He looked… smug. Why did he look smug? 

“You’re Wesley’s…” Oh dear. Oh, this was not a good time. Not at all. Right after… and right when I’d… 

“I see manners are still my son's strong point.” He remarked, offering a hand. “Roger Wyndam-Pryce.”

I shook as best as I could with my right arm in a sling. Oh, he was blaming Wesley for what happened! No, that had been me, it had all been my fault! “How do you do, I’m Winifred Burkle, I… I didn’t realise you were coming, we were… what happened with Sam is my fault, I was really awful, I’m gonna go apologise, so you two can catch up!”

I made it to the door and turned around. “I’m really sorry, Wesley.” I walked away, cheeks still burning. Stupid. I was stupid, and over-defensive, and… I had to find Sam and make sure she felt okay. She hadn’t deserved that, not at all, I’d been so awful to her all the time I’d known her for no good reason and now I’d made her run off in tears…

She must have gone to her office. I jogged awkwardly through the corridors, praying that I wouldn’t fall and break my other arm. I skidded to a stop outside a small, unassuming door, took a deep breath, and knocked. I pressed my ear carefully to the wood, and felt awful guilt pulse through me at the sound of restrained sniffling.

God, what was wrong with me? How could I have said all those things? Sam was nice, and she’d been sucked in by this place - Wesley had told me the story - with nobody to support her, and she’d somehow managed to maintain her goodness in this evil, wicked building, and I’d been absolutely terrible to her.

Again.

I swallowed and knocked again. “Sam? It’s, umm, me. Fred. I came to say… can I please come in?”

The door swung open, revealing a surprisingly small room. I could see Sam’s fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. She was standing behind it, out of sight. “Please, umm, come in.” 

I swallowed and slowly stepped inside. The room was eight foot by eight foot, at a pinch. All four walls covered in bookcases that reached the ceiling, the desk in the middle of the room covered in a high-rise sprawl of folders and other books. There was a fluffy rug on the floor covering up the company carpet, and the occasional pile of books covering up parts of the fluffy rug. The places on the desk not occupied by folders and books were like tiny islands containing framed photos, odd objects that looked like mementos, and of course - in pride of place - a tea-set, complete with teapot.

I stood in front of the desk, waiting for the door to swing shut behind me (which it did without being slammed) and turned around to face Sam. Her eyes were slightly red, raw-looking, there were tear tracks on her face, and she had her arms wrapped around her torso.

“Hi.” Sam made eye contact for a half-second, then developed an intense interest in a spot just behind my shoulder (at least this time I knew there wasn’t a person there for me to make miserable). “What do you… how can I help?”

“I’m really sorry, Sam.” I took a slow half-step forwards and tried fruitlessly to make eye contact. “I… I was cross at Wesley, and I wasn’t thinking at all, I was just yelling the meanest things I could because I was in a bad mood and that’s not an excuse, because what I said was awful and I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be.” Sam shook her head, wiping her nose with a tissue. “I mean… none of it was wrong, was it?”

“Oh, Sam, don’t say that.” I pleaded. “I… you’re a wonderful person. I’m… I swear I’m usually better than this, but I… I really haven’t been fair to you. At all. Ever.” And now I’m about to try and start a relationship with Wesley, which you’re trying to do.

My gut twisted. 

“There’s been a lot of conflict, and it’s all been my fault, and totally one-sided, so I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel unwelcome, or uncomfortable because you’re not, and you shouldn’t be, respectively.” I searched her eyes, looking desperately for a sign that she was feeling better. 

“It’s okay.” Sam smiled weakly. “I mean, you’re… you’ve still been nicer to me than ninety-nine percent of everyone here has been.” 

That was really sad. God, why had I been such a bitch?

“And, I mean,” Sam kept going. “I’ve been… Wesley’s your best friend, and I’m new, so of course you’ve been looking out for him, I’d do the same thing in your shoes.” Daggers of white-hot guilt stabbed into my chest and I did my best to smile. It wasn’t wrong for me to want Wesley. It wasn’t. Even if she… if she had feelings, I didn’t… I didn’t want to not be with Wesley. Not at all. We’d known each other years and… and we deserved at least a chance. Another one.

“That really doesn’t excuse what I did.” I chewed my lip. “How about I make it up to you? We’re taking apart the cyborg in the lab. It’s really intricate, like an MC Escher painting of machinery and biology… plus there’s mystical symbols.” I nudged Sam very gently with my working arm. “I know how much you love mystical symbols. I could really do with a translator. An expert to keep me from blowing the building sky high.”

  
“I do love mystical symbols.” Sam mustered a smile. “Sure, I can help. I’ll just… call Wesley. Actually, I’ll swing by his office, grab the relevant books, and we can be up at the lab in five minutes to help?”

“Err…” Oh God, I felt like such a monster. Did love make a monster of everyone? “Actually, this is kind of an urgent situation. Plus Wesley’s with his Father, and they probably don’t want to be disturbed. Lots of catching up to do. We can call when we get to the lab, see if they’re available?”

“Oh. You mean the smartly dressed older gentleman was Wesley’s father?” Sam whispered. I nodded. “The one I ran past… when I was bawling my eyes out like a five year old…” She groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“I explained that, told him it was all my fault.” I said soothingly, smiling apologetically. “Don’t worry. He knows I’m a massive bitch.”  
“You’re not a massive… thing!” Sam protested earnestly, grabbing some books from her desk. “You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You and Wesley have that in common.”

“I think all three of us have a lot in common.” I forced a smile.

“I think you’re right.” Sam nodded, following me out of the office. “I mean, Wesley is always saying - at least to me - that he thinks the two of us should be really good friends, that we’re a lot alike and well… do you think that?”

“I think we definitely _should_ be.” I nodded, hiding my face behind my hair as I turned a corner. “I… it’s my fault we didn’t hit it off. I’ll try to be nicer.”

“Well, it’s already working.” Sam flushed slightly. “If I… can say so myself.”

“You can.” I nodded. 

This was all so awful. Sam _was_ nice, smart, interesting, passionate, engaging… under any other circumstances, she’d have been a great friend. Unfortunately, I’d already got her to hate me over all the time I’d known her, and soon enough she’d almost certainly hate me even more. How would I feel, in her shoes? 

Awful. 

Just awful.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I led the way into the lab and looked around apprehensively. Angel, Eve, Spike, Sam, and Fred. Well, at least sixty percent of the people here I could count on to be appropriate. “Everyone,” I announced, heads swivelling to face me. “I’d like you to meet my father, Roger Wyndam-Pryce.”

Fred sent me an encouraging smile from where she was situated next to the cyborg specimen. Sam - hovering slightly nervously at the other end of the table from Fred - brushed some loose strands of hair behind her shoulders and took a deep breath. I eyed the distance between the two carefully: Fred had clearly apologised, and done some cleaning up. But Sam didn’t look comfortable. Not by a long shot. Which was to be expected, the way Fred had treated her. If she was angry at me, I could understand that. But being angry at me, and taking it out on Sam, even if Fred hadn’t known Sam was behind her? Not acceptable. Thankfully, Fred understood that.

Angel nodded politely, advancing partway across the lab, Eve - as usual - following in his wake. I cast a subtle sideways glance at my father, noticing that his gaze had gone first to Angel, then to Fred and Sam. At least, until Spike walked up to us.

“Daddy, eh?” Spike grinned, voice shifting into his classic sarcastic tone. “I always thought Wesley was grown in some greenhouse for dandies.” Not for the first time, I wished Spike was corporeal so I could strangle him.

“Spike.” My father glared at him icily. Oh, damn. Vienna. Of course, they’d already-

“You’ve heard of me?” Spike smirked cockily.

“No, we’ve met.” Fred and Sam shot me simultaneous sympathetic glances. “Nineteen-sixty-three. My colleagues and I fell upon you slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. Killed two of my men before you escaped.”

“Oh.” Spike looked shocked. I decided it would be pointless to try and explain that he was different now he had a soul. Firstly because he was still an arse, and secondly because the distinction didn’t matter to the Watchers’ council: after all, it hadn’t mattered to me back then. “How’ve you been?” Spike stood there, managing to endure my father’s withering gaze for a few seconds before he turned around and slunk off through the lab.

“I didn’t know your father was coming to visit, Wesley.” Angel walked over to my father and I, extending a hand. “I’m Angel. Pleasure to meet you.”

I contained a sigh when I saw my father regard Angel’s hand like it was covered in fecal matter. “Do you really expect me to shake that hand?” The hand that had saved the world multiple times.

“I’m not real comfortable with hugging.” Angel paused, and I saw Sam approaching tentatively from behind him. “No. I realise this may be somewhat of a horror show to you. But I hope you can keep an open mind. We really are doing good work here.”

“So I’m told.” My father turned a baleful look on me. “Incessantly, in fact.”

“Good evening.” Sam stepped past Angel, smiling politely at us and offering a hand. “I’m Samantha Jennings, deputy head of Research and Intelligence. I work for Wesley.”

“My condolences.” My father nodded and shook Sam’s hand, while I fought the urge to clench my fists. “That must be an… interesting daily experience.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Sam shook firmly and let go, smile remaining fixed, probably oblivious to the bitter barb tossed my way. “I love working with him. Well, I mean, _for_ him, but we do work a lot side by side, and it’s unfailingly fascinating! I’ve learned so much working for him.” Sam smiled. “You must be so proud.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the heart. “That’s a very nice thing to say.” My father smiled at Sam.

“I heard we could be of some use?” I looked between Fred and Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s right.” Fred waved us further into the lab and I led the way, Sam falling in beside me and my father following close behind. “We were just going over the autopsy.”

“Fred, keep me posted.” Angel instructed. Fred nodded and Angel swept from the room, followed - thankfully - by Eve.

“Of course.” Fred smiled at me, directing my attention to a circular device in the abdomen of the cyborg. “We found a series of symbols we’ve been unable to decipher.”

“Yes, interesting.” I murmured. My father put on his spectacles and I turned to Sam. “Have you taken a look at it yet?”

“I’ve mostly been examining the other components. Sorry.” Sam smiled apologetically. “Didn’t want to took a look at the cool bit without you here. Wouldn’t be fair to keep it all my to myself.”

“That’s appreciated.” I smiled at her, beginning to examine the device more closely. 

“We’re reading trace radiation signatures.” Fred caught my hand as I lifted it up, holding it away from the cyborg. “Hence my hesitancy not to immediately crack it open. It could be a self-destruct device.”

“I was wondering what had curbed your normally insatiable curiosity.” I murmured, gently slipping my hand out of hers now that she’d kept me from doing something reckless. If _Fred_ was advising caution with a specimen, best to listen. I appreciated her warning me off subtly, so father wouldn’t notice.

“I was hoping you’d decipher it, before we went digging around in there.” Fred looked at my father. “Wesley handles this kind of stuff for us all the time, all the important stuff. He’s a genius when it comes to languages.”

“I’ll say it again, Fred.” I mused, squinting at the symbols. “Sam’s the genius, I just take the credit most of the time.”

“Stop it.” Sam glanced over at me from the other side of the cyborg, frowning, cheeks slightly red. “You’ll make me blush.”

“I think he already did.” My father said archly. I suppressed a grimace, noting that Fred failed to withhold the same reaction. Sam just blushed redder and went quiet. “And as for Wesley’s knack for languages, the academy didn’t make him Head Boy for nothing. Although pickings were a bit slim that year.”

“The pattern indicates a Hellenic derivation.” I began talking, cocking an eyebrow at Sam.

“Agreed.” Sam nodded, looking pleased to have something work-related to focus on. “Moracian?”

“Early Moracian.” I nodded. “It’s a directive of some sort, a battle prayer, or a binding spell…”

“Shame the full text is obscured.” Sam reached one hand toward the cyborg. I shot my own out to catch her wrist and she went stiff, staring at me. 

“Given that it could be a self-destruct device, I’d wager caution is warranted for now.” I smiled at her. “At least until you whip up a sufficiently genius counter-spell to prevent us from blowing this building to kingdom come.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Sam nodded vigorously, slowly tugging her wrist out of my hand, then rubbing the spot I’d held her wrist. Damn, had my grip been too tight? I hadn’t meant to cause her any discomfort, I’d just wanted to keep her from tripping the device, as Fred had done for me…

“So, Sam, are you gonna go work on that counter-spell?” Fred smiled at both of us, pushing her glasses up her nose. “The three of us can finish up the rest of the autopsy while you prepare?”

“That sounds best, yes.” I agreed, turning to Sam. “If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Sam smiled brightly, turning to Fred. “I brought the relevant books down with me, is it alright if I use your office?”

“Oh.” Fred blinked, then nodded. “Sure, of course, yes. Go right ahead.”

“Really? You think this is Moracian?” My father frowned at me once Sam had left, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we taught you better than that.”  
“Excuse me?” I frowned.

“It’s quite clearly Dutrovic, boy.” My father leaned in closer, putting on his glasses again. “If you just take a look at the obscured section…”

One hand moved to the device too fast for me or Fred to stop him, tilting up one edge. A little light started flashing in the centre of it and it began beeping rapidly. Fred’s eyes widened, perfectly mirroring my reaction. “What did you just do?” Fred asked, staring at my father.

“He activated the bomb.” I managed to get out. “Father, do you see a trip mechanism?”

“Besides the one I just tripped?” He snapped. “Wesley, Winifred, get everyone out of here. Evacuate the lab. _Now_, are you slow, boy?”

“Look for an incident device!” Fred circled behind him and I followed her, peering over his shoulder. “A switch, or a circuit breaker!”

“There’s nothing…” I muttered, looking over my Father’s shoulder, then raised my voice to a shout and moved to the centre of the lab. “Everyone else, get out of here! _Sam_, now!” 

Sam jolted upright from her position at Fred’s desk and started heading out of Fred’s office. “I’m not going.” Fred shook her head, eyes fixed on mine. “We’ll get back in there, defuse the bomb, make sure that-”

Abruptly, the beeping stopped. I turned to my Father. His gaze was stubborn, defiant, eyes filled with smug satisfaction, fixed on mine. “What did you do?”

“I told you already.” He removed his hands from the cyborg, wiping them on a cloth. “The symbols were Dutrovic, contrary to your hypothesis. When interpreted _correctly,_ they spell out the proper procedure for handling the cyborg’s power core, including this fail-safe, in case someone trips the device. Quite simple, really.” I blinked. I’d been wrong. I’d been wrong, _again,_ in front of my Father and nearly caused a disas-

“You risked triggering a bomb and killing all of us just to prove you were right?” Fred’s voice was disbelieving, both eyebrows raised at my father.

“No. I defused the bomb before it could be detonated remotely because I _knew_ I was right.” My father said archly, removing his glasses and smiling indulgently. “Which I was.”

“What makes you think the symbols are Dutrovic?” Sam frowned. Her nose was almost up against the device, eyes squinting at the symbols. “I can’t see anything that implies-”

“I’m sure I can educate both of you on the subtleties of ancient languages later.” My father’s brow creased at Sam before he turned to face me. “For now, I imagine you owe your _boss_ an explanation?”

“He’s right.” I rubbed my eyes and turned to Fred. “We should probably explain to Angel that contrary to the warnings of the fleeing lab staff, the building isn’t going to explode.”

“Good call.” Fred nodded. “He does like to know the building he’s in won’t blow up. And he asked to be kept posted. So, double win.”

“Double win.” I agreed. “Sam, would you do me a favour and brew my father some tea while Fred and I catch Angel up? I’ll meet you both at my office once I’m done?”

“Sure.” Sam smiled brightly at me, leading my father out of the lab. “So, about those Dutrovic symbols. What was it again that tipped you off to the…”

I chuckled, shaking my head and looking after her. “Sam really is resolute when it comes to academics.”

“Yeah.” Fred frowned at me. “It’s kind of weird that your father got a different read to both of our resident mystical experts.” 

“I always get things wrong when my father’s around.” I sighed as we left the lab. “And Sam probably got a bad read based on my initial suggestion.”

“Maybe.” Fred chewed her lip. “I just… can’t remember the last time you were mistaken about _anything_ related to work_._ Which is kind of amazing, come to think of it.”

“That’s very nice of you to say.” I inclined my head. “You’re more than amazing.”

Fred smiled warmly, linking her arm with mine. “Let’s be amazing together.”

“Deal.” I smiled. Working side-by-side, we’d have this case cracked in no time.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“What happened?” Angel frowned quizzically.

“I can explain!” Spike stepped in-between Wesley and Angel. “Apparently, when Percy-”

“Spike, c’mon.” I looked at him imploringly. “Take a walk.”

Spike turned around to look at me. I gave him my best pleading look. His jaw clenched and it was with significant reluctance that he muttered. “Nothing to report.” And marched out through the nearest wall.

“Thank you, Fred.” Wesley sighed.

“Wesley’s father _deliberately _tripped the self-destruct mechanism on the cyborg.” I explained. “Just to make a point about the symbols on the device, which he alleges Wesley and Sam mistranslated.”

“I _did_ fail to translate the symbols properly.” Wesley sighed and rubbed his forehead. “My father only tripped the self-destruct because he translated the symbols correctly as instructions for disarming the explosive, and wanted to prevent it from being activated remotely.” I felt a pang at seeing Wesley so downtrodden. It was awful. Even when his father was clearly at fault, he blamed himself. I mean, I used to get nervous when I was presenting a school project or something and my parents were there… but nothing like this. It didn’t make sense.

“Yeah, but he didn’t clear it with us before.” I frowned at Angel, reaching up to squeeze Wesley’s shoulder reassuringly. “Or tell us what he was doing. He just activated the bomb and tried to defuse it. It could have been a disaster.”

“Right.” Angel frowned. “And where is he now? I trust he’s being kept away from any explosives?”

“Sam’s keeping him entertained.” I frowned, thinking of happy, bubbly, Sam trapped with Roger Wyndam-Pryce. “I’m gonna go check up on them. See you there, Wesley?”

“Of course.” Wesley nodded. I gave his shoulder one final squeeze for luck and headed out of the office, letting out a breath. God, Wesley’s father had shown up at the worst possible time.

Wesley had told them to go to his office, right? They were probably there by now. I walked across the lobby and approached the door, hearing giggling from within as I reached it. Yep, they were there. I knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside. Sam was sitting in her chair (on Wesley’s side of the desk) while Roger was sat on the side of the desk closer to me. 

“Ah, Winifred.” He nodded in recognition, gesturing to the chair beside him. “Please sit down. Have some tea.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and sat down next to him, nodding to the two cups left on the desk. “Umm, which is for me, Sam?”

“Oh, the one closer to you.” Sam smiled and sipped her tea.

“Thanks.” I picked up the cup, blew on it gently and sipped. Damn, that was good.

“Dare I say it, my son was right.” Roger smiled, drinking his own tea. “You might just be the best brewer I’ve met outside of England.”

“Oh, stop.” Sam smiled, lifting her own cup to her face.

“He’s right.” I agreed. “Although I do have a personal liking for the honey Wesley uses in his tea, instead of sugar.”

Roger shuddered. “He _still_ does that? God, what a heathen.” It was with great effort that I kept the smile fixed on my face. 

“So.” Roger looked at me. “Sam knows Wesley because they work closely together. And you know him because…”

“We used to work together at the hotel.” I explained. “Back when we were six people with one microscope, a handful of books, and a lot of attitude.”

“Ah, I see. I apologise, my son has always been rather reticent when it comes to sharing details about his life.” I couldn’t imagine why. Roger glanced between Sam and me. “So, how did you both end up… here?”

“Archaeologist.” Sam explained. “Found an actual, moving, deadly mummy in a tomb. Kidnapped my expedition. I made a deal with Wolfram and Hart to work for them in exchange for rescuing my friends. Worked here for a couple of years before Angel showed up to take over the branch and well… here I am.”

“And you assist Wesley with doing his job?” Roger raised an eyebrow. “Translations, spell-work, espionage?”

“Just the first two.” Sam explained. “I’ve only ever been any good at the research part of Research and Intelligence.”

“And you don’t just do his job for him, I hope?”

“Oh, no. That’s what I used to do for my last boss. Without realising. That’s a long story.” Sam frowned. “But we collaborate on a lot of projects. Lots of late nights, early mornings, and tea to keep us going through both.”

“I see.” Roger turned to me. “And yourself?”

“Majored in Physics. Grad student.” I sipped my tea. “My evil professor - who I didn’t know was evil at the time - banished me to a hell dimension. Hid out for five years, until Angel Investigations showed up and took me home. Took a couple of months, but I signed on full-time as the science expert, and here I am.”

“You mean at some point Wesley was responsible for the scientific aspect of your group?” Roger looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “As well as leadership?”

“Yep.” I smiled. “He did a good job of both. He was a lot more… measured as a boss than Angel is.”

“Frankly, it’s a miracle any of you are still alive.” Roger shook his head and I frowned. Why did he feel the need to constantly talk negatively about Wesley, to his face and behind his back? Shouldn’t he be proud that his son had, y’know, _saved the world_ while Roger sat around in England drinking tea and discussing academia?

“By which I mean that he used to be awfully reckless when he was younger. Always poking his nose in where he shouldn’t have.” A tiny smile quirked Roger’s lips. “Did he ever tell you the story about the stolen resurrection spell?”

“No, he never told me.” Sam glanced over to me. “What about you, Fred? You’ve known him longer.”

“Drawing a blank.” I shrugged. “Wesley’s never been one to talk much about his childhood.”

“Yes, I’m not surprised.” Roger chuckled. “He was always getting himself into disasters. Anyway, as I was saying, I found him out on the lawn with an ancient scroll, chanting and scattering the relevant powders…”

“How old was he?” Sam smiled, titling her head.

“Oh, six or seven.” Roger waved a hand, setting down his empty teacup. “He must have taken the scroll from my library.”

I heard the door open behind me and turned over my shoulder, smiling at Wesley and waving with my functioning arm. “Hi, Wesley.” I smiled.

“Hey!” Sam called out.

“Hello?” Wesley glanced around the room, brow furrowing.

“Wesley,” Roger beckoned him in, gesturing to the empty chair. “I was just telling Samantha and Winifred about the time I caught you with the resurrection spell.”

“Oh, right.” Wesley nodded, running one hand through his hair and sitting down in his chair.

“I couldn’t remember why you were doing that.” Roger refilled his cup from the teapot. “What was the reason?”

I looked at him, smiling expectantly. “A bird had flown into my windowpane. I think I was trying to bring it back to life.” Wesley looked embarrassed.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Sam gushed, passing him his cup of tea. “You big softie.”

“It really is.” I smiled at him, setting down my cup and propping my chin on my hand. “I can’t believe you could even read a resurrection spell at age seven. I hadn’t even memorised the periodic table by then.”

“I’d wager Wesley still hasn’t.” Roger smiled. “But, yes, his mother thought he was quite the prodigy. Luckily I caught him, or we’d have had zombie birds pecking out his little eyeballs.”

I giggled. It sounded louder than normal. Then I realised Sam had giggled at the same time as me. That was kind of creepy, but I guess it _was_ a funny story. “We should definitely swap childhood stories later.” I smiled at Wesley. “After this, I think I owe you my embarrassing story about trying to synthesise a new element when I was ten.”

“That sounds interesting.” Wesley grinned. 

“Yeah, I was years ahead of the jokers who finally made it in a lab a year or so ago.” I frowned. “It was a real shame what happened to old man Shaw’s barn though.”

Everyone else laughed. I joined in, smiling behind one hand. Now Wesley didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. That was nice. “As nice as this is,” Wesley smiled, looking between us. “I think it should probably wait until after we’ve cracked this cyborg case.”

“I imagine so.” Roger stood up, dusting himself off. “Back to the lab, is it?”

“Actually, I was thinking that Fred and Sam finish going over the cyborg, while you and I do some further research on their origin.” Wesley paused and raised an eyebrow. “Provided you don’t try and blow me up again?”

“Honestly, Wesley, you were never in any danger.” Roger frowned. The three of us exchanged a look, then all frowned at him. “Fine, fine. Your precious eyebrows will be perfectly safe.”

Well, this wasn’t exactly ideal. I’d rather be working with Wesley… but I couldn’t keep him away from his own father, and at least Sam wouldn’t be with him in the meantime. I could make some more progress when we met up later. And his father wasn’t around. It was going to be a nice, quiet night of fruitful research. Perfect circumstances.

“C’mon Sam, let’s get shaking.” I stood up and held the door open for her. Sam grabbed her ever-present stack of books and walked through the door, after bidding goodbye to Wesley and Roger. I shot Wesley one last smile. “See you soon, alright? If you need anything, just call the lab.”

“I will.” Wesley smiled, standing up. “Thank you, Fred.”

“Don’t mention it.” I turned to Roger and smiled. “I’m sure we’ll all see each other again soon.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” He nodded. “A pleasant evening to you.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I led my father into my other office. The larger, less central office with more books, and which allowed access to the vault. My usual office was much more convenient for standard research, or working on projects: Lorne, Angel, Fred, and Gunn could just walk through my door if they needed something. This was more out of the way. But it was also where I kept the source books, which I imagined I was going to need.

“The Dutrovic markings suggest an Eastern origin. There might be something in the Journals of Saitama.” I approached my desk.

“So.” My father pointedly examined a bust. “Samantha and Winifred… They seem to quite like you.”

“Well, you’re half right.” I murmured, examining the books. Well, I mean… both of them _liked_ me in the sense of being colleagues, friends, people who’d spent a lot of time together and got on well… but Fred had made herself very clear that we were best friends, nothing more, nothing less. And I’d eventually managed to wrap my head around that idea. Sam, on the other hand…

I couldn’t quite hold back a smile as pleasant memories of the last few days washed over me. Sharing meals, but with new subtext. Working together, but with greater intimacy. Softer, quieter conversations that necessitated closer proximity, light touches of arms, hands, feet… delightful. All of it. I’d been trying to work up the nerve to ask Sam out to dinner. Officially. Part of the reason I’d specifically asked Fred to help me on the warehouse job was so I could ask her for advice over coffee on the best way to broach the subject with Sam (Having an exceptionally intelligent, socially astute female best friend really came with many advantages).

Until we’d been attacked and Fred had got hurt because of my selfishness, and I’d been worrying about her all day, until my father showed up… and everything had been hectic since then. I realised my father was waiting for a response. “Fred is the best friend I could ask for, and Sam… she’s a very special person.” Everything about Sam was so very special.

“Oh! I see.” My father frowned for a moment, then cleared his throat. “So, Sam. Do you… think a lot of her? Does she know how you feel about her?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “And I think so.”

“‘I think so’.” He mused. “Hmm. Well, if you _think_ she knows how you feel, that would do it, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m really not going to discuss this with you.” I returned my focus to the books. Books were much less confusing.

“If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine.” My father paused. “But if you like this girl, tell her.”

“Noted.”

“And, much as it pains me to interfere, are you _absolutely_ sure that Winifred doesn’t feel-”

That sentence was not being finished. Or at least, I wasn’t going to listen to it being finished. I lifted up the book and whispered to the spine. “The Saitama Codex.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

The lights went out across the lab, replaced by dim emergency lighting as the alarm began to warble. “That can’t be good.” I frowned.

“I second that.” Sam’s expression mirrored my own. “You should get to Angel, find out what’s happening.”

“Right, that makes sense.” I nodded, then winced internally. Because that left Sam with only one logical place to go. “Sam?”

“Yes?” She smiled.

“Take care of yourself.” I grabbed the TS-113 rifle from the nearby worktop and handed it to her. “The safety’s on, I imagine you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Texan born and raised.” Sam shrugged, smiling nervously. “I’ll be fine. I’ll find Wesley, then we’ll join up with he rest of you?”

I resisted the ridiculous urge to refuse. I just… I had a bad feeling. “Sounds good. Keep safe.”

“You too!”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“You had us attacked, you smuggled in a weapon. It must rankle, knowing we almost caught you earlier.” I tried to play for time, hoping that security, or Gunn, or someone could arrive to help extricate us from this standoff without one of us being shot. 

“Oh, yes, Samantha.” My father nodded, pistol not wavering. “Now, she had some fire in her. Spotted right away it was Moracian, but unlike you she didn’t cave in the moment I supplied an alternative explanation. I mean, honestly, why would anybody inscribe the instructions for disabling a self-destruct device _on_ the self-destruct device? She’s too clever for you by half.”

“Undoubtedly.” I kept my gaze fixed on my father. “I don’t know why you’re doing all this, but did you ever once consider there might be another way? Did you ever once consider talking to _me_ about it?” I was his son. I would have helped him. 

_If_ he was in the right.

“No.” He answered frankly, lips curling ever so slightly. “You’ve failed me enough for one lifetime.”

I’d known how he felt about me. Maybe I always had. But it didn’t take away the sting.

“Wesley!” My heart plummeted as Fred emerged onto the rooftop. She couldn’t be here, she was at risk, if my father thought to point that gun at her…

He wouldn’t think of it. I prayed he wouldn’t think of it. Not even he would…

“Fred, get out of here!” I pleaded.

“What the hell is going on?” Fred crouched down at Angel’s side, looking at me wide-eyed. She couldn’t help him. Only breaking the crystal or undoing the enchantment would help Angel, and I couldn’t do either at gunpoint. But my father couldn’t leave without the staff.

“You know what that vampire is, and what he’s done, and you follow him anyway?” My father demanded, sneering.

“Maybe I know what I’m doing.” I did. I knew what I was doing. “Why can’t you trust that?”

He smiled patiently, the way he had when he’d tried to explain very complicated theory to me when I was ten, and I hadn’t understood. But the smile wasn’t patient. Not really. Or maybe the smile was, but the man wearing it wasn’t. Not even with a ten-year-old. He certainly wouldn’t be patient with me now. “You _disgrace_ yourself with the council, you join forces with _him_, and now you have the nerve to ask me why I can’t trust you?”

“I’ve done everything you ever asked, and I’ve done it well.” I gripped the gun tighter. I had. I could be proud of the things I’d done in my life, the people I’d saved. I was.

“I asked for this, hmm?” My father nodded knowingly. “I wanted to be humiliated?”

“No, I suppose I don't know what you really wanted.” I’d never known really. Tried so hard to please him, and never succeeded. Not once. Not even for a moment. I should have known, in the vault, when he complimented me. That had been his one mistake. It should have tipped me off that he was nervous. But I’d been stupid, and the praise had set me at ease instead. Like the fool he’d always said I was. “You never had any use for me as a child, and you can't bear the thought of me as an adult. Tell me, father, what is it that galls you so, that I was never as good at the job as you... or that I just might be better?”

“Oh, yes.” My father snorted. “This is Los Angeles. We have to talk about our _feelings_. Then maybe we’ll hug.”

“It’s doubtful.” I had to keep playing for time, had to hope something arrived to change the equation, because I couldn’t let him leave with the staff, and I couldn’t stop him without killing him. And I wasn’t sure I could do that, even to save Angel. 

Even to save myself.

I could hear helicopters approaching, but they didn’t matter. Angel wouldn’t follow my father unless he was holding the staff, commanding him. More men or cyborgs wouldn’t stop me smashing this staff if I had to.

“Hand me that staff.” My father beckoned impatiently, like I was a child again, hiding away one of the first edition books from his study for myself.

“No.”

“Now, don’t make me shoot you.” Ah, yes. ‘Don’t make me’. Because if he shot me, it would be my own silly fault for not giving him the staff, wouldn’t it? Just like when he’d beat me, or punished me in a thousand other ways that I used to think were normal, it had been my own fault for disappointing him. Childhood had been one long punishment.

I took a step to the edge of the roof, and held the staff over the edge. Now if he shot me, I’d drop it and it would break. Then Angel would stand up, and it would be over. Angel wouldn’t kill him. Angel would be fine, my father would be alive… Fred would be fine. No chances. I accepted that outcome.

“Do you know how powerful that thing is?” He asked, his entire demeanour exasperated. A schoolmaster, faced with a particularly dull pupil.

“I don’t care.” I didn’t care if it broke, but he did.

“I will _kill_ you for it.” My father steadied his aim. “Please believe me.”

I suppressed a laugh. I’d never doubted for a second that he would. “Oh, I believe you. I was raised by you, after all. But-”

The crack of a gunshot echoed over the roof. I hadn’t fired. I looked down at myself. I hadn’t been shot. Had he missed?

I looked up. There was a large hole punched clean through the side of my father’s chest, a matching hole on his other side. For the first time that I could remember, he looked genuinely surprised. The pistol tumbled from his hands as he collapsed onto the rooftop. Judging from the angle of the two holes, the shot had come from the stairway. I spun round to aim my pistol at the doorway, unsure what to expect. 

I hadn’t expected to see Sam, standing just inside the doorway, clutching a rifle.

“Sam!” I dropped the pistol and ran over to her, just in time to catch her as she fell to her knees, throwing up on the ground. Her whole body was shaking. I wrapped her in my arms and squeezed her tightly, feeling her arms wrap around mine. “Sam, you’re alright, you’re okay, Sam just keep breathing, shush, it’s alright, it’s alright…”

“He had a gun and… and he said he would kill you and I didn’t have time to do anything else, I just… I killed…”

“You saved my life.” I felt her began to sob against me, and rubbed her back soothingly. “Sam, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

It was only when Fred touched my shoulder a few minutes later that I fully realised my father was dead. It was only when I helped Sam upright and turned her around so she wouldn’t have to see the body that I discovered my ‘father’ had been a cyborg with a glamour.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I still can’t believe it was just a robot with a fancy glamour.” Angel frowned. “It was so lifelike.”

“That thing knew everything about me.” I frowned, rubbing my forehead. I hadn’t suspected, not even for a moment, that it was anything but my father. Nothing had struck me as odd. Nothing. 

“If they had access to the Watchers’ Council’s old files, they’d have your background information, character assessments…” Angel mused.

“Psychological profiles.” I nodded. “Everything they’d need.”

“Like I said, don’t beat yourself up for not spotting it.” Angel leaned back into the sofa. “How’s Sam doing?”

“I want to get back to her.” I confessed. “This is only her second time in a combat situation and she… she shot someone. Killed them. She was doing a lot better once she found out it wasn’t actually my father she’d killed. Fred and Sam discovered the cyborgs only have a half-life anyway, very limited lifespan but… I want her to have the week off.”

“Done.” Angel waved a hand. “Week off.”

“And I want at least a few days off too.” I rubbed the back of my head. “So I can check in on her. Make sure she’s doing alright. Sam… she doesn’t have as many friends as she deserves.”

“She’s got you.” Angel shrugged, smiling at me. “You’re one of the best friends a guy can have. Or a girl. Or a vampire.” He offered a hand. I shook it. “Go take care of her. Last I saw, Fred was guiding her into your office, promising to look after her.”

“Thank you.” I nodded and calmly walked out of Angel’s door, closing it behind me. Then I ran across the lobby, skidded to a stop in front of my - normal - office and knocked on the door before opening it.

Sam was curled up on one of the comfy chairs, an almost untouched cup of tea resting on the arm. The office was otherwise empty. “Sam.” I said tentatively, pushing the door to behind me before making my way over to her.

“Wesley!” Sam looked up at me and smiled faintly. There were tear tracks on her face. She stumbled upright, taking a few stumbling steps forward and pulling me into a hug. I embraced her comfortingly in the centre of the room, holding her tight to my chest. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Thank you.” I whispered to her. “For saving our lives. He wasn’t really… you can’t blame yourself.”

“I would have done it, though.” Sam pulled back slightly, looking up at me, eyes uncertain. “I didn’t know that he wasn’t your father, I just… I shot…”

“He was threatening us. Fred, Angel, and me.” Sam could not be allowed to blame herself for any of this. It was not her fault. 

“He was threatening _you._” Sam replied softly. “He said that he would _kill_ you for the staff and I… I just panicked because all I could see was you in a hospital bed and you’d been shot, it was awful with the beeping and… the flatlining noise and… and I’m just so _glad_ you’re alright, I don’t know what I would have done if you’d got hurt, _I can’t lose you!”_ Tears were slowly running down her face. I gently wiped them away with one hand, and pulled Sam back into a hug.

“I’m so, so sorry you had to do that.” I murmured, feeling her worm herself tightly into my arms. “But you should know… you’ll never lose me. I’ll always be there for you, if you need me. Anything at all, if it is within my power… you will have it. You deserve only happiness, Sam.”

Sam drew back slowly and swallowed, looking up at me. “Wesley…” She drew a deep breath.

“Sam?” I searched her eyes, curious. They were hard again. Determined. Strong. 

“Close your eyes. Please.” She whispered.

I closed my eyes.

Sam’s hands shifted to rest on my shoulders. I heard the squeak of her shoes as she went on tiptoes. I heard her draw breath from impossibly close in front of me. I felt warm, soft lips gently press themselves against mine, eager yet hesitant.

Sam was kissing me. It was magical. A lifetime later, I felt her gently move back, heard her settle back onto her feet. “You can open your eyes now.” Sam whispered.

I opened them. Sam’s beautiful green eyes were wide and nervous, searching my own. “Was that… I mean I should have asked… but…” I smiled widely at her and she stopped talking. She smiled too.

I pressed one finger to her lips and leaned down. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

Sam nodded, cheeks going bright pink. I shook my head in response. “You don’t. Every thing you say is perfect. Talk as much as you like.” I withdrew my finger.

“What if I… don’t want to talk right now?” Sam smiled, smiling shyly.

“I think I can work with that.” I smiled, and leaned down to kiss her again.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Alright, I had everything I could think of. Fiction books, marshmallows, biscuits, cups, hot chocolate powder, tea bags, ice cream. All boxed up into one care package and carried back to Sam. Once I’d called some of my employees to help me grab this stuff (promising them the night off immediately after they helped), I’d managed to cobble it all together in just a couple of minutes! Any second now, I’d be back at Wesley’s office.

This should be enough to help Sam feel better until Wesley got out of his meeting with Angel. Considering how much Angel had apparently chewed him out over the warehouse, I imagined Angel was going to spend _hours_ yelling at Wesley (unfairly) for not realising a cyborg had infiltrated the building disguised at his father, robbed us, and almost turned Angel into a puppet for all eternity. Once Wes got out, both of us could work together to make sure Sam started to feel better.

I gently nudged the door to Wesley’s office open, tightened my grip on the box and looked up-

Wesley wasn’t in his meeting anymore. He was in his office. With Sam. Leaning back against his desk with her wrapped in his arms, eyes closed. 

Kissing her passionately. 

No.

Nonnonnonnono. No, no, this… this didn’t… they couldn’t…

I felt an awful icy coldness pour into me, and turned around, stumbling away, trying not to lose my grip on the box, I couldn’t let go of the box because I’d drop it and then they’d hear it and then they’d see me and they’d see that I was _crying_, when had I started _crying, _Wesley couldn’t see me like this, he couldn’t! I mashed the close doors button on the elevator as hard as I could, resting my head against the wall, my other hand clamped over my mouth so my sobs wouldn’t carry across the lobby. 

The doors slid shut and I dropped the box, hearing the crash - as if from a great distance, or underwater - as it slammed into the floor. I stumbled back, feeling dizzy, why was I dizzy, I felt sick and prickly and hot and confused, I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew that… that _this _couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t right, it couldn’t be, I loved Wesley, I loved him so much, and Lorne had read Wesley’s future! He’d seen Wesley’s future, and he was indescribably happier, happier than he’d ever been, romantically, and…

That hadn’t necessarily meant with _me_. Oh God. Please, please, no. I felt numbness overtake me. I picked up the box and traipsed across the lab, staring at the ground in front of me. One step at a time. Left foot forwards. Right foot forwards. Left foot forwards. Put your best foot forward, put on a brave face.

I set the box down on the floor and closed the door to my office. I turned around slowly and brushed my hair out of my face, glancing across the lab to make sure it was empty. It was.

I screamed as loud as I could and collapsed to the floor, sobbing into closed hands. I’d had everything, and I’d never known it. I could have been with Wesley, I could have been happy and he would have been happy too and…

I’d ruined everything.


	7. Old News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley and Sam return from their week off work (and there's something there that wasn't there before).

**Fred**

“Hey, Angel.” I kept the bright smile fixed on my face as I stuck my head round his office door.

“Good afternoon, Fred.” Angel smiled, waving me towards one of the chairs.

I popped inside and closed the door behind me, walking slowly into the room. “I was just…” How was I supposed to ask this question? “I had a project that I wanted to consult with a mystical expert on, but I haven’t seen Wesley all day. Do you know where he is? Or if he’s not available, then maybe Sam?”

Neither of them had been in. Not all morning. The last time I’d seen them had been last night, when they’d been… Why weren’t they in? What was happening?

“Wesley and I agreed to give Sam the week off.” Angel explained. “I mean, after the mess with the cyborg yesterday… Sam’s never shot anyone before and, as you know, she was pretty torn up about it.”

Oh, she had been at _first_, when I’d escorted her back to Wesley’s office. But when I returned two minutes later, once I’d gathered the supplies to help her feel better, she’d seemed much improved. Very _energetic_.

“And Wesley?” I swallowed.

“He wanted a few days off as well. To recover from seeing his father, and to take care of Sam. Make sure she was doing alright.”

“That’s… great.” I didn’t let my smile waver. “That’s just fantastic. Superb.”

“I’m sure someone else in Research and Intelligence would be happy to lend a hand.” Angel suggested. “Or, if it’s something very complex you could give Wesley a call? See if he can help out.”

“I’m sure I can work with what we have here.” I quickly made for the exit. “Thanks for the help, Angel!”

Keep your head held high. Walk straight. Be purposeful. Remain focused on your work. Avoid Lorne. The cameras in the building weren’t working after the attack last night, so nobody knows. Nobody knows except you. Keep it that way. Wesley is happier than he’s ever been, don’t get in the way of it. You wanted to be just friends with him for ninety-nine percent of the time you’ve known him, you can keep doing that. 

I could ignore the gaping hole in my chest. It would go away soon enough. 

It would.

\+ + + + + + +

_The Answering Machine of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce’s Apartment_

Two days after the incident:

“Hey, Wesley. It’s Fred. Umm, obviously. We didn’t get a chance to talk after everything that happened, and Angel told me you had the day off yesterday. And you still weren’t in today. I don’t want to bother you or anything, so maybe just call me, or drop me an email or a text to let me know you’re doing okay. I… sorry I bothered you.”

Three days after the incident:

“Hi, it’s me again. I don’t know if you got my message yesterday, so I’m gonna try again, in case it somehow got deleted or I dialled the wrong number. I’m starting to get worried about you. More worried, that is, I was obviously worried yesterday or I wouldn’t have called and… I hope you’re taking the time to relax and… and enjoy yourself, but if you could maybe spare thirty seconds just to let me know how you’re doing, I’d really appreciate it. Sorry. Again. Hopefully we’ll talk soon. Or, at least I’ll get to read a message or something. I… I hope you have a really nice day. Please call. Or just let me know you’re alright. Sorry.”

Four Days After

“So, umm, remember how I said I was worried? Well, I’m sort of really worried now, because I don’t think I’ve ever had to wait this long for a reply from you. And that’s kind of starting to panic me. So, I’m going to call again tonight if I don’t hear anything, and if I call and you don’t answer, I’m gonna have to grab one of my automatic lock-pickers and head over to your apartment to check up on you. And I’m sure that you don’t want that, because you might have company and… just please let me know you’re okay. Please please please. Sorry.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I swallowed and dialled the number on my desk phone for what felt like the thousandth time, holding the phone to my ear. If he didn’t pick up, I was going to head over there, break down that door (the automatic lock-pickers still didn’t work properly, but an axe would do the trick), and find out how he was doing. Unless he wasn’t there. Because he was staying somewhere else, like a hotel or… or someone else’s apartment. Whose number I didn’t have. Maybe he’d been staying with this person for the last few days, and since his mobile phone was still in his desk drawer, that would explain why he hadn’t responded to my messages. Maybe he didn’t care about me anymore, because this other person was better in every way and had never been awful to him or to anyone else. I really didn’t want to think about that other person.

I realised that the ringing had stopped. The phone had been picked up! Wesley had answered the phone. For a moment, I was thrown. Where had I put that sheet with all the stuff I wanted to say on it? I started looking over my desk, come on, it had to be somewhere, where had I…

“Hello? Wyndam-Pryce residence?” _Her_ honeyed voice floated out of the phone to my ear and I froze. She was… of course she was there. Of course she’d be there with him, why wouldn’t she be, I mean _they were together_, it made perfect sense that she’d be there. He was probably cooking a wonderful meal for them to share, before they talked into the late hours of the night, cuddled up on the couch with a movie, kissed passionately, and…

I slammed down the phone, breathing heavily. If Wesley had invited Sam over, then he was fine. She’d take care of him. I swallowed. He’d talk to Sam about his problems now. I didn’t need to call and check up on him. He was fine. Better than fine.

He was very happy. Lorne’s reading had been clear on that front.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Who was that on the phone?” I looked up from my position on the sofa.

Sam turned around, nose crinkled up, appearing quite puzzled. She looked very cute. “I don’t know.” She frowned, then flushed. “I… I think I might have pushed a wrong button.”

“Really?” I smiled innocently,sitting up slightly. “Do tell.”

“I…”Sam twisted a few strands of hair around her fingers. “I think that maybe I… pushed the button that deleted all your answerphone messages when I tried to pick up the phone. And then I picked up the phone but I couldn’t hear anything, so I pushed some more buttons and then I _never_ heard anything and I think I may have hung up…” She stared at the floor, face almost scarlet.

I smiled indulgently and stood up, abandoning my book on the sofa. “What on earth am I going to do with you?” I murmured, wrapping one arm around her and moving my other hand up to stroke her cheek softly. “You little menace.”

“I swear… I didn’t… I’m really-” I bent down and cut short Sam’s apology with a kiss. A very lovely, very long kiss. “Sorry.” Sam finished, blinking. “Except now I’m really not.”

“There’s never any messages on that old thing anyway.” I shrugged. “And the call was probably just from a telemarketer.”

“Wow, check out Mr Cynical.” Sam grinned, wrapping her own arms around me. “Do you assume the worst about everything?”

“Almost everything.” I confessed, beginning to slowly walk backwards.

“Where are we going?” Sam grinned, following along.

“The sofa.” I kissed her forehead. “Back where we were sitting.” Her cheek. “Before you insisted on going to get the phone.” Her other cheek. “Even though I told you it was going to be a telemarketer.”

“We don’t _know_ it was a telemarketer.” Sam pointed out, eyes shining.

“Yes.” I conceded, standing just above the sofa. “Because you wriggled out of my arms, skipped over there, apparently deleted answerphone messages I may or may not have had, and hung up on the caller that was the entire reason you went over.”

“When you put it like that, it really sounds like we should have stayed on the sofa.” Sam frowned.

“Precisely.” I kissed Sam gently on the lips. 

“How about you let me make it up to you?” Sam smiled playfully. 

“Yes, please.” I smiled in return.

“Great.” Sam pecked me on the cheek. “I’ll be right back with a cup of tea.” She spun around and sauntered over to the counter. I blinked, processing, then chuckled. She’d got me. Cheeky little thing. I bent down to retrieve my book and sat down on the sofa. I closed my eyes and smiled: it had been a very lovely week so far. And I really couldn’t see it failing to keep getting better. A couple of days spent in Sam’s company, except instead of working like we usually did, we’d toured the city, visited museums and libraries, eaten meals out at charming little restaurants… it had been heavenly.

I’d slept on the sofa at her wonderfully cosy apartment the last few days, only stopping in to my own home to shower and change clothes, but we’d decided to have a quiet night in at my apartment tonight. Cook dinner together, cuddle up on the sofa watching a film… it was going to be fantastic.

“Tea service.” I heard a cup being set down on the table in front of me and opened my eyes, opening the book blindly and turning to face the pages.

“Thank you, Sam.” I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sat down next to me, burrowing into my side. I didn’t react: it was her turn to be teased. I was going to read for a bit, see how she liked it. Once I managed to tear my gaze away from the bouncing gold curls in the corner of my vision.

Sam knew how to play ball. Before I managed to look away from her, she began making it very hard for me to focus on the book. I turned my eyes to look at the pages, but I was having a great deal of trouble focusing on any of the words (or even reading them) when Sam was kissing my cheek, nibbling gently on my ear, and rubbing my back in rapid succession.

“Do you mind?” I turned to face her and smiled. “I’m just getting to the good part.”

“_Wes_,” Sam smiled, eyes sparkling. “The book’s upside down.”

I looked down. “Oh. So it is.” I dropped it onto the floor and pulled Sam into my lap, returning all the favours I’d come to owe her over the last half minute or so. 

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

God, I was so out of practice with these demonic languages. I rubbed my forehead and squinted, looking between the translation guide and the proposed engraving for the grenade. After the last techno-mystical hybrid debacle, I was taking no chances with this one. And this time she wasn’t around to mess it up, so this would go fine. I could probably have delegated this to someone else and done some of that paperwork I was falling behind on but paperwork didn’t occupy my mind properly which led to lots of introspection, thinking, and…

I wasn’t going to think about it. I was going to focus on this stupid translation to the exclusion of all else and not let myself think about-

“Good morning, Dr Burkle!” I couldn’t keep myself from stiffening at the sound of her voice. I refused to look up at the doorway of my office. I wouldn’t. 

“Good morning, Samantha.” I kept my voice cordial, one hand clenching into a fist beneath my desk.

“So, how was your week?” I heard her walk up to my desk, could spy her out of the corner of my eye.

All the better for _not_ seeing you, Sam. “Oh, fine. Been a little overworked. Lots of people taking long holidays. Had to pick up the slack.” I kept my gaze focused on my writing. “Oh, how was your week off?”

“It was really nice, thank you.” Sam sighed. I tried not to picture the dreamy look she must have in her eyes, to imagine how wide her smile was, tried not to torment myself with ideas and images of why exactly her week had been so great.

I failed.

“Oh, I brought you a cupcake!” She set it down on the desk just inside my field of vision. Chocolately-looking, vanilla icing on top… my favourite. Of course. At least it wouldn’t be poisoned: I was thoroughly out of the way now, she had no reason to want to get rid of me, even if she was evil. Rather than lovely, sweet, adorable, cute, and unfailingly kind and thoughtful. Kind enough to find out my favourite flavour of cupcake, then bring me one on her first morning back. Sam was unfailingly lovely, and I’d never hated anyone more.

“Did you carry that through the lab without a container?” I hated how petty I was being, but I couldn’t stop myself. “That wouldn’t be sanitary.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, I’ll just bin this and grab a new one, give me-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Right, I guess I’ll have to strike bribery off my list of strategies.” Sam laughed nervously.

“Samantha, I have important work to do, is there something you need?” I looked up at her, keeping my gaze steely, raising an eyebrow.

She looked very beautiful today. Long silky hair brushed straight, emerald eyes highlighted subtly, lashes accentuated, and wearing a very tasteful shade of lipstick. Her outfit was professional but flattering - not that it was hard to flatter Sam’s perfect figure - and she had the look of someone who’d been smiling a lot recently. Even if right now she was looking more flustered.

“I, umm, was hoping I could cash in on that favour, actually.” Sam smiled hopefully and I frowned. I owed _Sam_ a favour? Hadn’t she taken enough from me already? “Y’know, from when I helped you out with Spike? The essence localisation spell to limit his blinking in and out?”

I forced a smile. “Yes, I remember.”

“Ooh, I heard he became corporeal!” Sam grinned widely. “How did you do it? You gotta tell me, we have a bet.”

“A bet?” I frowned, gut twisting at her casual use of the word ‘we’.

“Wesley bets that you got that sample of nuclear evil from the volcano and used that to recorporealise him.” Sam explained. “And if it’s anything else, I win.”

“You win.” I maintained my forced smile. “It wasn’t even me that did it. He got a package in the mail, opened it, and bam! Corporeal again.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned. “That’s really weird. A shame too, since you worked so hard to get it to happen. I’m sure you were close!”

I hadn’t been, actually. No need for her to know that. “Is that all you wanted?” I raised an eyebrow. “To see if you’d won your bet?”

“Oh, no. Sorry, I got sidetracked.” Sam swallowed. “It’s just that… umm… it’s… Wesley’s birthday coming up soon, as I’m sure you know. I wanted to do something really special for him, because he doesn’t normally celebrate his birthday, and I mean, now that we’re… I just want to make it special. And you’re his best friend, you know him better than anyone else, and I was hoping you might have some advice for me?”

I rubbed my eyes under the guise of rubbing my forehead, wiping away the beginnings of tears that had started to form. What had I done to deserve this? I loved Wesley, I wanted to be with him, but I knew he was happy with Sam and I wanted him to be happy, so I was stepping aside. And watching them be together was hard enough, but… for Sam to ask me to help her plan a perfect romantic birthday surprise for Wesley? When every time I’d tried to do something for his birthday in the past, he’d brushed me off politely? No. I couldn’t do it, I… I just couldn’t.

“Wesley hates his birthday.” I looked back at my work. “He hates celebrating it, and he won’t let anyone do anything nice for him. Sorry I couldn’t help you more. Now I really am very busy, so if you don’t mind…”

“That’s the other thing.” Sam looked crushed. So disappointed she didn’t get to plan her super-special, super-perfect romantic night out with Wesley. At least she got to have normal mornings, afternoons, and nights with Wesley. As if any of those things could just be _normal_ with Wesley by your side. “Angel, Lorne, Gunn, and Wesley are having that meeting soon. The one about the demon clan summit, and I offered to invite you down.” Oh, right. The meeting. Sure, I could go-

Wesley had had the perfect reason to come and see me. We hadn’t even spoken in a week, and he’d been offered the perfect opportunity to pop down and say hello while escorting me to the meeting and he hadn’t done it. Hadn’t responded to my voice mails, or called, or texted, or emailed or… why would he? He didn’t need me. He had Sam now. Who’d actually told him she cared about him, rather than lying to herself and bottling her feelings up inside, making him miserable in the process. She’d made him happy, and she still was and… of course he wouldn’t want to waste his time coming down to see me. Sam had only come to get some information out of me.

“Great.” I forced a smile and stood up. “Let’s get going.” I picked up the relevant folder and a pen, following Sam out of the lab. Sam turned towards the elevators.

“I’m gonna take the stairs.” I explained, turning away. “Get some exercise.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Sam materialised beside me and I looked away from her to hide my grimace. “Not that you need the exercise, I mean I definitely do, the amount of pastries and cakes I’ve eaten this last week, it’s a miracle I haven’t…”

I smiled and nodded at what seemed like appropriate moments, doing my best to tune out Sam’s speech as much as I could. Her tone, her mannerisms, every word she spoke betrayed how happy she was, her overwhelming joy and contentment. Still, the end was in sight. I could see Angel’s office now, I just had to walk down the stairs, cross the lobby, bid Sam a polite goodbye and I’d be free of her. Easy.

I was snapped out of my daydream by a sharp intake of breath from Sam. I glanced over, curious, to see she’d slowed to a stop, wide smile on her face, staring down the stairs towards the lobby. “Hey there!” She bit her lower lip and waved shyly.

Wesley was rushing up the stairs towards us, one hand on the banister, eyes fixed on Sam, answering smile not quite as wide as hers, but still the widest I’d ever seen Wesley smile. His whole face lit up, impossibly blue eyes shining warmly… god, I’d never seen him look this happy. I looked him up and down quickly: he looked fine. Better than fine. He… he seemed recovered, which was good, it was good to know that what had happened with the cyborg hadn’t-

Was it so wrong that I wanted him to at least look at me?

“I was just coming to look for you.” Wesley walked up the last couple of stairs to join Sam on the landing. I swallowed and took a step backwards out of the way, failing to tear my gaze away from them. 

“How is that working out for you?” Sam asked sweetly.

“Splendidly.” Wesley’s eyes gleamed, looking deep into hers. I fought down the urge to throw up or cry. “I was beginning to worry that Fred had decided to steal you away from me.”

“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “I didn’t… I mean… I wouldn’t… do that.”

“Glad to hear it.” Wesley grinned at me and I swallowed, feeling my stomach tie itself into a knot. “I’m sorry for my prolonged absence. In my defence, a cyborg duplicate of my father did try to kill me.”

“Oh, it’s no-”

“Fred had a really busy week.” Sam interrupted me, shooting me a guilty look. “Before she tells you she’s doing fine. She’s been bowled over trying to keep on top of our work as well as hers, working late evenings-”

Guilt flashed onto Wesley’s face. That wasn’t what I wanted! “Wesley, please, don’t worry, it was just-”

“I’m so sorry.” Wesley sighed, shooting me a deeply apologetic look. “Tell you what. You save up all the boring, uninteresting work you have to do this week - paperwork and such - and send it to us. Sam and I will work late a couple of evenings so that you can get caught up and take a couple of nights off to relax. You deserve it.”

“Wesley, I don’t need-”

“Please?” Wesley smiled. “Just take a few nights off. Give yourself a break.” Now I wouldn’t even be able to spend much time at work with him. The rate things were going currently it really didn’t feel like I was going to catch a break anytime soon. But he didn’t need to know that.

I just nodded.

“So what, now you’re booking me overtime without asking?” Sam folded her arms, pouting at Wesley.

“Yes, I seem to remember something about _me_ being _your_ boss, and not the other way around…” Wesley murmured, eyes gleaming.

“This place rubbed off on you.” Sam kept pouting. “You’ve turned evil.”

Wesley chuckled. “How about we’ll stay late and work and… I’ll owe you a favour?”

“One favour?”

“Two favours.”

“Hmm.” Sam smiled sweetly. “I suppose that works.”  
“Glad to hear it.” Wesley smiled broadly, stepping up to her, thumb moving up to stroke her cheek.

Sam stood on tiptoes and gently pressed her lips to his. A sweet, intimate kiss. I looked away, cheeks burning, whole body burning with awful heat. “Wesley.” Sam spoke quietly from behind me. “I really missed your… severed head.”

I blinked and turned around. Wesley looked as confused as I felt. “Pardon?” He frowned.

“Gary has a severed head.” Sam pointed down into the lobby and I blinked. One of the cleaners _was_ carrying a severed head away, right as Angel and Gunn walked out of his office.

“That… that deserves investigating.” I smiled shakily. “I’m just gonna… go.”

“Well, it’ll certainly make for an interesting start to the meeting.” Wesley frowned, rubbing his chin.

I walked ahead of Wesley and Sam so I wouldn’t have to see whatever sweet, cute, jealousy-inducing thing they decided to do on the ten-second walk down to Angel’s office, dashing over to them. “Hey!” I skidded to a stop in front of Harmony’s desk, looking between Angel and Charles. “What happened there?”

“I think a position just opened up in accounting.” Lorne turned to stare after the head. His eyes jumped towards the stairs for a second and a frown creased his entire face. He turned to look at me. I avoided eye contact.

“Hardest part of the job, terminating an employee.” Charles said neutrally, hands in his pockets. I swallowed: that was pretty cold.

Wesley stepped up beside Lorne, brow still creased. I saw Sam disappear into his office. I guess they didn’t need long goodbyes, seeing as how they spent ninety-nine percent of their time together anyways. He just had to get through one meeting with me, and he’d be back in her waiting arms.

“Keeping corporate America safe from evil, I see.” I turned and blinked. It was Spike! He was finally back!

“Spike!” I smiled. It was good to see him. After he vanished for so long (why had everybody decided to vanish on the same week?) following his re-corporealisation, I'd been worrying he’d forgotten that sunlight had an effect on him now he was a vampire again and had accidentally dusted himself. Or that he’d just left without saying goodbye. That he’d never really cared at all, and like Angel had said, had only been playing me with smiles and friendliness to make sure I helped him back into the world.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up.” Charles eyed Spike warily.

“Where have you been?” I looked at Spike. “It’s been days.” I could have really used his company this week. Instead, less than forty-eight hours after Wesley had left, Spike had fought Angel over a cup of mountain dew and vanished into the wind.

“Out enjoying freedom,” Spike spread his arms for emphasis and grinned. “From my ghostly confines, love.”

“No side effects from re-corporealisation, then?” I looked at him meaningfully. I wished I had a scanner here, then I could just run a few quick tests and-

“Bit of a hangover.” Spike winked. “But that’s to be expected after all the drinking.” I sighed: drinking. Now _that_ was a good idea. Have a couple drinks in the evening when I got home from work, just enough to… oh dear, I’d just seriously contemplated alcoholism as a solution to my problems. 

Bad Fred. _Very_ bad.

“I’m just swinging by to say my final farewells.” Spike looked at me. His eyes focused on mine. Then he frowned. His expression was unnervingly similar to Lorne’s. “Pet, what’s-”

“You’re leaving?” I silently thanked Wesley for interrupting Spike.

“You catch on quick, don’t you?” Spike turned to Wesley, glancing him up and down. Spike inhaled ever so slightly - it wouldn’t be visible to anyone further away from him than me - and I saw his eyes narrow, jaw tightening. His eyes darted to me sympathetically before he disguised it.By mocking Angel. “Yeah, I thought I’d push off. Seeing as how I got somebody waiting for me.”

Spike’s eyes flicked back to mine - great, that made _two_ people who I had to avoid eye contact with - questioning, and I kept my expression neutral. Nobody else could know. Especially Wesley. He was happy now.

“I’m not sure that’s wise, given the Shanshu prophecy is still unresolved.” Wesley frowned, looking to me for support. I shrugged.

“That’s your problem.” Spike didn’t look away from me. “I got more important fish to fry.”

“Let him go.” Angel almost growled.

“I could use some walking around money, actually. Couple hundred sound good?” Spike finally looked away from me, but he still looked concerned. Or maybe he was constipated?

“How about ‘no’?” Angel folded his arms. These two could be such children sometimes.

“Typical, you cheap sod.” Spike nodded. “How about some wheels then?”

“If it’ll get you out of here faster, fine.” Angel paused. “Just not the Viper.”  
“Copy that.” Spike nodded. Angel blinked, then nodded once and retreated to his office, flanked by Wesley and Charles.

“Bon voyage, Spikester. Don’t be a stranger.” Lorne clapped Spike on the shoulder, then slowly walked into Angel’s office.

“Fred,” Spike stepped up to me and swallowed. “I want you to know... uh, I mean, all that work you put in trying to, you know, cure me of the ghosties…”

“I didn’t do anything.” I shrugged, avoiding his piercing eyes. “All I did was fail a bunch of times and give you a lot of false hope.”

“You did much more than that.” Spike countered, shaking his head firmly. I felt a cold hand gently push my chin up to look him in the eye. “You believed in me. You tried. You gave me genuine hope. You never gave up on me. I’ll _never_ forget that.”

“You’re welcome.” I made eye contact and smiled.

“Fred, are you…” Spike trailed off, fidgeting. “What I mean is… about Wesley-”

“I’m fine.”

“That was fast.” Spike smiled sadly. “Pet, listen…if you’re not comfortable or happy about this, you need to tell him how you feel.”

I shook my head. “I won’t.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to see how he feels about you.” Spike’s voice was a whisper. “If you just tell him, then-”

“How he _felt._” I cut Spike off. “As in, _used to feel._ Besides, even if Wesley… even if he did, how could I? He finally gets to be happy, so I have to swoop in and ruin it? No. No way. Not again.”

“And what about you?” Spike asked quietly. “How happy do _you_ feel?”

“Happy trails, Spike.” I smiled, not answering his question. “Stay safe. And you’re welcome.”

“Oh, come here, pet.” Spike stepped forwards and drew me into a hug. Given he had super strength, I saw little point in fighting it. I hugged him back for a couple of seconds. Spike stepped away and sighed, looking at the elevators. “Next great adventure, eh?”

“Send me lots of postcards.” I smiled. “Or else.”

“Count on it, love.” Spike hesitated. “If you want me to stay, Fred, you know you only have to…”

“I want you to do what’s best for you.” I smiled. “Go to her, Spike. Tell her how you feel. And _definitely_ explain why you took your time showing up. Don’t repeat my mistakes.” I reached out and squeezed his hand, then stepped back and waved goodbye as he stepped into the elevator.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I chased up Fred.” Sam announced as she walked into the office, setting down an impressively tall pile of paper in the in-tray. “One pile of boring monotonous paperwork, as requested.”

“Good lord.” I muttered, giving the stack a once-over. It almost doubled the height of the desk. I would swear I could hear the legs groaning under the weight. “I suppose we did ask for it.”

  
Sam coughed and raised an eyebrow at me, sitting down in her chair. “Alright, _I_ asked for it.”

“Better.” Sam nodded, sliding the top page off the stack and clicking her pen thoughtfully as she looked at it. “Overtime requests. This makes me long for the days when all of these got automatically denied.”

“We started paying overtime?” I frowned, leaning over her lovely shoulder to examine the form. “I was never consulted.”

“I suppose Angel must have done it in one of his more charitable moments.” Sam shrugged, smiling playfully. “I suppose you would have been against it.”

“Well.” I hesitated. “I very much like the _idea_ of overtime pay. I even accept the _cost_ of overtime pay. What I have a problem with is the _organisation_ of overtime pay. Too much paperwork.”

“I thought you’d be well versed with bureaucracy, given your time with the Watchers’ Council.” Sam smiled. “I imagine they have a form for everything.”

“Let’s just say bathroom breaks were a scheduled affair.” I murmured. “And that I once got into an intense argument with a staff member over whether my banana was regulation-compliant.”

“You’re messing with me.” Sam frowned, turning to face me.

“I’m not.” I smiled. “Cross my heart.”

“And your _fingers_.” Sam poked the offending fingers (which I’d kept in view on the desk in the spirit of fair play) with her pen. I withdrew my hand quickly. “Such a trickster.”

“You love it.” I smiled, kissing her cheek. “I keep you on your toes.”

“That’s fair.” Sam tilted her head and kissed me gently, then tugged her head away. “Now we should probably get this paperwork done, or people will start to talk.”

“Let them.” I kissed her cheek as I pulled away. “Let everyone to be jealous of me.”

Sam flushed. “I think you mean jealous of me.”

“Of your good looks, your intelligence, and your demeanour? Yes. Of your choice of romantic companion, no.” I smiled.

“Hmm.” Sam hummed dubiously, beginning to approve the overtime form.

“So how did you convince Fred to actually turn over some work to us?” I asked, retrieving my own form (buying more plastic slides, how exciting). “I was quite certain she was just pretending to agree to placate me.”

“She’s going out for drinks tonight.” Sam explained. “Seemed kind of flustered about it. Didn’t say who with when I asked.”

Ah. So Fred and Spike had finally worked things out. I smiled: That was good. They’d obviously grown very close when he was incorporeal: when Spike hadn’t been irritating Angel, he’d been accompanying Fred. Weeks, spent so much in each other’s company? The perfect grounds for something to grow out of. They’d grown so close that once Spike became corporeal, it was only a matter of time before they figured it out. He was her type (courageous, witty, handsome), she was his type (independent, beautiful, slayer-factor)… it all made a great deal of sense.

Although I had a sneaking suspicion Angel and Gunn were going to be dismayed once they found out. Still, knowing Fred, she’d be subtle. I wasn’t expecting to see any outward signs of anything between them, if Spike decided to remain (although with Fred here for him, he’d have to be a thousand times stupider than I imagined not to stay): no, she’d be careful.

But the tension I’d seen between them when he said his ‘goodbye’? Those long, searching looks he gave her? The tender embrace? Please. I would be the first to admit I was very unperceptive when it came to such matters, but not even I could misinterpret signs as obvious as that. They’d be very good for each other. 

I just hoped that Fred would get Spike under control sooner rather than later. And that she didn’t drink too much to follow his example.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“-and the worst part is I can’t even quit.” Harmony looked glum. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I finished off the last of my cosmo and frowned at Harmony. “I’m sure that’s not…” Harmony’s face said it all. “Really?”

“I tried being out on my own, all independent and evil.” Harmony sighed. “I’m just no good at it.”

“But, I mean…” Trying to explain to Harmony why being good at being evil was a bad thing was not a conversation I wanted to have right now. Not when my brain already felt slightly fuzzy from the drinking. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not like everything’s so great now.” Harmony glared at her martini as she drank deeply. “I’m _useless._”

“Harmony, it was one mistake.” I shrugged. “We… all make mistakes. Some bigger than others. You really can’t take everything Angel and Wesley say or do personally.”

“What did Wesley do?” Harmony frowned. Oh. Oops. Too much to drink. “Did he say something behind my back?”

“No, no, not at all!” I shook my head. “I was just… it was just an example, y’know, since Wesley can be a little stand-offish at times.”

“You know who I wish I was more like?” Harmony looked up at me, setting down her empty glass.

“Who?” I raised an eyebrow. This would be interesting. I wonder what model, or actress, or-

“Sam.” Harmony sighed. 

Oh. _Sam_. Well. Sure, I mean who _wouldn’t_ want to be more like Sam? Intelligent, kind, approachable, beautiful, adored, enchanting, open, honest…

“I mean, except for the part about being into dead languages and weird history.” Harmony wrinkled her nose. “She’s got everything! The looks, everyone on the staff loves her, and she has the hottest guy in the building totally over the moon for her.”

“Over the moon?” I swallowed. “Are you sure? I mean-”

“Oh trust me, you don’t want to know the things I’ve seen from my desk.” Harmony rolled her eyes and I stiffened as she began to fan herself with one hand. “When they arrived for work, the energy pouring off them, the smell… phew. The way they act around each other, I mean, they must know Wesley’s office has glass windows, right? I can see them. When I crane my neck.”

“But it’s just been one day, right?” I swallowed. “One day that you’ve seen them, maybe they’re just in the honeymoon phase-” Oh, god, why had I said honeymoon, now I couldn’t stop picturing-

Harmony shook her head. “Sam has Wesley _totally_ wrapped around her little finger. I don’t think she knows it though. Or maybe she’s just choosing not to use it yet, I dunno.” Harmony frowned. “Which is kind of weird to me, because I always got the vibe he was _totally_ crushing on you.People used to discuss it like crazy before Wesley and Sam had to be all boring and become official. I always told ‘em you were crushing on him too because I figured you were, but were having fun dragging it out, y’know?” Harmony shrugged. “Stringing him along just enough to drive him crazy, waiting for the opportune moment to make his day? Guess I was wrong. On both counts.”

“Guess so.” I stared mournfully at my empty glasses. I was going to need more alcohol to overcome this sudden and very unwelcome burst of melancholy. Maybe shots. “But, I mean… I guess there was no way Wesley could work alongside Sam all the time and not develop feelings, right?”

“You’re probably right.” Harmony nodded. “I guess you and Sam are pretty similar anyways, right? Except for the hair. And you liking science, and her liking magic. And her having more up front.”

“Why were people gossiping about this?” I frowned, trying not to think too much about what Harmony had said. 

“You, Sam, Wesley… you’re at the top.” Harmony shrugged. “People want to know what’s happening with the bigwigs. You’d think they’d ask me, but…”

“Why don’t they?” I asked. Harmony looked down helplessly. “Harmony, do you… do you not have many friends at work?”

“I don’t get it.” Harmony sighed. “I used to be way popular at high school, but ever since I got vamped I’ve had trouble connecting with people.”

I rested my head on one hand, frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe you should… you know, put yourself out there more. I mean, lots of Wolfram and Hart people hang out right here! Try mingling.”

“They’re all straight.” Harmony explained. I blinked. Oh. Oh. So when Harmony had asked me out for drinks had she… I really hoped not, this couldn’t be a… I was _not_ doing this with Harmony, please please let this not be a- “Non-vamps. I gravitate more towards the undead variety.”

Oh. That was a relief. And an explanation! “Well, that’s your problem. The undead, they’re not exactly givers. I’m sure there are tons of straight guys who would love to get to know you.” No kidding.

“Well,” Harmony glanced over my shoulder and smiled. “There is one at the bar…” 

I turned to sneak a peek but Harmony caught my shoulder and turned me back round. “Don’t!” Harmony hissed. “I think he’s checking me out.” Oh, she looked so excited. It was sweet.

I remember back when I used to get that excited over guys.

“You should go talk to him.” I smiled. It was always better to talk. Talk it through, make things clear.

“I couldn’t.” Harmony shook her head. “I’m hanging with my gal pal, I would never do that to you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” I smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine if-”

“Okay!” Harmony leapt up and started to walk towards him, then spun round to face me. “What do I say?”  


I was seriously the last person to ask for advice on how to talk to guys. Maybe she could call Sam, seeing as how she wanted to be just like her. A vivid image of Harmony acting like Sam flashed before my eyes and I shuddered: maybe not. One Sam was as many as I could deal with. “Oh, um… just say hi and introduce yourself. I bet he takes it from there.” 

“What if he doesn’t?” Harmony looked panicked. “Take it, I mean.”

“Questions are always good.” Where you’re from, what do you do for a living, why are you with that floozy, do you still care about me, if I cared about you the same way could we…

“Like boring stuff?” Harmony nodded. 

“Sure. Only… maybe act like it’s not.” I frowned. “Boring, that is.”

“I can do that.” Harmony nodded, and walked away.

I tapped the rim of my empty glass with my fingernails and sighed. I hope Harmony and that guy hit it off. At least some people - and vampires - should get to be happy. I chewed my lip thoughtfully: I wanted to stay and drink but… well. The last few times I got drunk, I hadn’t been in the best of states to function independently.

I waved down a waiter. “Four shots of vodka and a sea breeze, please.” She nodded and kept going.

I flipped open my phone and dialled a number. “Hi Lorne. I’m in the bar, just around the corner from work? Yeah, if you’re free I thought it would be nice for us to… perfect. Thanks. Yes, I already ordered you a sea breeze. Sorry in advance.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

No harm in trying one last time before I left for work. I placed my plate on the drying rack and called Fred’s home number, leaning against the wall by the door as it rang.

“Hi, this is the Burkle residence! Well, I mean, not the original or unique Burkle residence, more like the… this is Fred Burkle’s home phone and I’m almost definitely not in at the moment, I mean, I wouldn’t just ignore somebody trying to call me, that would be rude and… well, leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you just as quick as I can. Have a great day!” I couldn’t hold back a smile at Fred’s adorable answering machine message. It felt almost like she was babbling along beside me.

“Good morning, Fred, it’s Wesley. I hope you had a fun night out.” I paused to think. “I’m guessing you almost certainly did if you’re not up already to answer this. I was working through the paperwork last night and I ran into a few troublesome forms, I’d love a chance to go over them with you to make sure I don’t accidentally order the lab a camel. I’m sure maintenance had more than enough fun dealing with Harmony’s menagerie yesterday, I don’t want to add to the burden. Why don’t you give me a call when it’s convenient for you, or stop by my office, or take your chances and risk the camel. I’ll see you later.” I hung up and stashed my phone in my pocket.

I imagined Fred and Spike had had a very lovely evening, and doubted Fred would be in for a couple of hours. Hopefully she got a nice lie-in. I picked up my helmet and left my apartment, locking the door behind me and shrugging on my jacket as I made my way to my motorcycle. I wonder if Fred was merely up late, or staying elsewhere this morning? Perhaps Spike’s apartment. Did Spike have an apartment? I’d ask Sam if Spike had an apartment when I picked her up in a few minutes, she knew more about him than me.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I hated hangovers. And I’d broken my promise to myself never to let Lorne mix me drinks again. And paid the price. I rubbed my temples, pulling the covers up over my head and groaning. At least this time I had clothes on. That was an improvement. I waited a few minutes for the ringing in my ears to subside and tried to think past the pounding ache in my brain to work out what had happened.

I’d gone out for drinks with Harmony. I’d already been tipsy by the time she left to talk to some guy, then I’d ordered more drinks and invited Lorne to come drink with me. After that it was blurry. I remember shots… drinking… a dizzying succession of different bars and clubs… dancing… sitting on a rooftop with Lorne, legs swinging over the edge, talking about the meaning of life…

Wow. I had been so wasted. I pushed the covers down and opened one eye carefully. Not my apartment. Brilliant. So I was probably at Lorne’s place. I glanced around: signed movie posters, a walk-in wardrobe that took up an entire wall, sequinned jacket hanging on the wardrobe door…

Yep. Lorne’s place. There was a tall glass of water and some tablets on the bedside table with a note that read: ‘Aspirin - you’ll need it! — Lorne’. I sure did. I drank some water with the aspirin and sat up in bed, yawning and stretching. Once I was feeling slightly more awake, I grabbed one of the less garishly pink dressing gowns left out next to the bed (Lorne was such a sweetie) and padded out the door. I whistled, looking around: Lorne sure had a nice apartment. Very big. And so full of _stuff._ And not clutter like my apartment, actual furniture and decorations. Wow.

“Lorne?” I called out hesitantly.

“Fredikins!” Lorne’s head appeared around another door and he smiled beckoning me in. “Come on, I’ve got breakfast!”

I smiled and walked after him. “Pancakes!” I grinned, seeing a small feast laid out on the table. “Lorne, you’re a gift.”

“That’s what I keep telling Angel, but he never listens.” Lorne shrugged, smiling. “Good morning, by the way. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a log.” I frowned. “With partial amnesia.”

“Well the first part’s good, the second’s to be expected.” Lorne poured me a coffee and smiled. “I kept you from getting too wild. Or too uptight. There’s a fine balance.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Lorne.”

“Now you had better feed that genius brain of yours.” Lorne shovelled a large stack of food onto my plate. “And get to work in time for that summit. Just in case there end up being some last minute spanners-in-the-works, Angel Investigations style.”

“Good idea.” I frowned. “Although I hope there are no spanners.”

  
“So.” Lorne studied me over his fruit juice. “What set of interesting circumstances led Winifred Burkle to go out drinking and require my assistance to party the night away?”

That hadn’t exactly been the reason I’d called Lorne, but sure. “Girl talk.” I smiled. “Of an interesting nature.”

“Say no more.” Lorne held up both hands. “I understand such things are sacred. Which is why everything we discussed in the jacuzzi last night is totally confidential.”

I frowned. “There was a jacuzzi?”

“Right at the end.” Lorne nodded. “The new swimsuit we got you is in the wash, I’ll send it over to you later.”

“Oh. Okay.” Last night had clearly been even more interesting than I thought.

“So if you don’t remember it, do we need to have the conversation again?” Lorne raised an eyebrow, twirling a fork between his fingers.

“What exactly did we discuss?” I frowned.

“Guys. Girls.” Lorne made eye contact. “One of the first, two of the second, to be precise.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Fred-”

“Please, Lorne.” I smiled at him. “This was really nice. And a lot of fun. Let’s just… not mess up now, okay?”

Lorne pinched his nose and sighed. “On the condition that we do end up talking about it. Soon.”

“Sure. Soon.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Never negotiate with high school students. Or vampires. Definitely never with someone who was both. That was how you ended up with your hands, wrists, and ankles duct-taped together, and your mouth duct-taped shut, about to be tossed into a maintenance closet. At least this couldn’t get any worse.

Harmony pushed open the maintenance closet in front of me. I groaned through my gag: two people already in there. Great. Now other people got to see me immobilised by _Harmony_. On the left was Rudy, who did all the blood tests and on the right was…

Sam. Oh, it got worse. Fabulous.

Harmony dropped me next to Sam like a sack of potatoes (ouch) and stepped back to stand in the doorway. Harmony looked at me guiltily. “I'm totally sorry I have to do this, and you guys are being super understanding. It's just till I clear my name. I so owe you guys dinner.” Then the cupboarddoor shut. One more day at Wolfram and Hart.

I wriggled against the bindings, trying to worm my hands free or break the tape: no luck. Extra-strong duct tape. My mouth was gagged, so I couldn’t call for help. Perfect. Just perfect. I felt a pair of legs bump into mine awkwardly and glared over at Sam: was it so hard to keep out of my space? Then I saw her eyes. Forehead scrunched up, eyes focused, trying to make eye contact. I let her.

_“Hi.”_ Sam’s voice rang through my head without her mouth opening and I lurched away on instinct, bashing my head on a box. Ow. _“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!”_

_“Is this… telepathy?”_ I kept eye contact with Sam.

She nodded. _“Non-verbal telepathic communication spell. Pretty basic. Don’t worry, I swear I’m not reading your mind.”_

_“Good to know.”_ I hesitated. _“Sam, can you use this spell to talk to anyone outside, get them to… it needs eye contact doesn’t it?”_

Sam nodded.

_“I suppose a cutting or bashing spell is out of the question?”_

_“This is the only spell I know that doesn’t have an incantation, or requires a lot of arm and hand waving. Sorry, this is all I’ve got.”_

So it couldn’t help me, it just meant I wouldn’t be able to sit here in peace and quiet. I sighed. _“What happened to you?”_

_“I was running back from the archives with a book when Harmony suddenly grabbed me to ask about blood test results - which explains why Rudy is in here - and where they get transmitted. Then I heard Rudy moaning, asked Harmony what she thought the noise was and… well… here I am.”_

_“She probably came straight to see me after that. I’d seen the results, so into the cupboard with me.”_

_“We won’t be here long.” _Sam sounded confident. _“Wesley will start to wonder where me and the book ended up soon. Then he can do a tracking spell or just access the security footage, and he’ll find us in no time.”_

I flinched. Perfect. Wesley would find me trussed up in a cupboard, helpless. One second-rate, air-headed vampire had got the best of me. God, running the lab had made me soft. I used to take care of vampires like Harmony every day without breaking a sweat.

_“I hope everything goes okay with the summit.” _Sam shifted slightly in position. _“I mean, these two clans are very violent and they were getting very angry over the death of the demon rights’ activist.”_

_“I think Harmony killed him.” _I explained. _“Accidentally, not to derail the summit.”_

_“Oh. How do you know?”_

_“I…” _I felt an inexplicable urge not to tell Sam that I’d been drinking with the vampire who’d tied us up in a closet. _“I saw her drinking with him in the bar yesterday. From the back, and I didn’t put the pieces together until now. Now obviously her blood test came up positive and she’s panicking, etcetera.”_

Sam nodded. _“That makes sense. How were drinks yesterday?”_

_“It was very fun.” _I smiled despite myself. _“Definitely not my usual kind of night out, but enjoyable none-the-less. Great company. How was your evening?”_

_“Wesley and I stayed late doing paperwork. Lots of tea, lots of paper aeroplanes. We had a late dinner afterwards.”_ Sam paused, frowning. _“Although I was planning on using yesterday to plan for Wesley’s birthday, and now I’m not sure when to slot it in. I guess if I stay extra late tonight, I can lose an hour or two of sleep, get up early in the morning and get everything organised tomorrow. That should work. I’ll have to call someone to make sure there’s some brewed tea waiting on his desk, and make it clear that I am gonna be in so he doesn’t worry, and while I’m at it…”_

Sam just wanted Wesley to be happy. To have a lovely birthday. Of course she did. And I wanted Wesley to be happy, and Sam made him happy. I… I should help Sam. Not all the time, obviously, but Wesley was prickly about his birthday I should at least answer her question from yesterday so it didn’t all go wrong.

_“Remember yesterday you asked me for some advice about Wesley’s birthday?” I interrupted gently._

Sam looked panicked. _“Yes but… but I know you’re busy and all, I swear I wasn’t trying to get you to help me since we’re both here, I was just-”_

_“I know.” I did my best to smile reassuringly through the duct tape. “I came up with an idea I was going to offer you? Something he’d enjoy… would you like me to?”_

Sam nodded eagerly.

_“Okay, umm, listen closely.” _I hesitated, part of me reluctant to give up my idea to help someone who my brain screamed was _competition._ But Sam wasn’t that. Wesley had chosen her. She was part of his life. As Wesley’s best friend… it was my duty to help her.

_“He’d hate a party, so don’t throw one of those under any circumstances. Eat something nice at a restaurant relatively early in the evening, then take him back home for a movie night and cuddling. It’s understated, but very private and personal. He’ll really like that.”_

_“Watch a Mystery Movie first, he loves those, murder ideally, something complex with lots of twists, but not so many it’s contrived, he wants to be able to solve it, not have the ending be something random and stupid.” _Sam nodded attentively, eyes locked on mine.

_“Now, fair warning, he won’t be paying you much attention during that first film - too focused on solving the mystery, whatever you do don’t spoil it for him if you figure it out, maybe write your prediction on a note so you can impress him later - so afterwards you should put on a Romcom. That should help create the appropriate… atmosphere.” _Sam went pink.

_“And obviously during this one it’s okay to distract him. Cuddle and kiss and… you can figure it out, I’m sure. Sorry. But I… I think that sounds like a lot of fun. And I know Wesley will really love it if it’s with you.”_

_“Thank you so much!” _Sam almost squealed with gratitude. _“That’s perfect, that’s brilliant! Oh, you’re the best, Fred!”_

_“I’m sure you already have lots of fabulous ideas for presents, but you might want to add a bottle of this whiskey he likes to the list, he loves this vintage. I’ve got the name jotted down somewhere in my office, I’ll pass it on later. Be warned, he might want you to try some, it tastes nice and it’s pleasantly strong but it’s like fire in your throat.” _Sam nodded firmly, paying me close attention.

_“And… if you’d like some more… general advice about Wesley?”_ I asked tentatively. Sam nodded. I grimaced beneath the duct tape and continued. “_Wesley tends to move very slowly, so he’s sure you’re okay with something, so it might be best to be… proactive if you want things to change.Relationship wise. But don’t go too fast, obviously. I hope that helps.”_

I smiled and nodded along to Sam’s torrent of praise and thanks, remaining just focused enough to nod in agreement or answer the available question. I was doing the right thing. By leaving them alone and helping Sam in her endeavours. I was making Wesley happy.

My chest should not feel like a bottomless pit.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Fred!” I called out, turning on the spot in the lobby. Where had she gone? I glanced around, just in time to see a few dark curls swishing in the air as their owner turned a corner. Perfect. I sprinted after her, rounding the corner. “Fred!”

Fred - now only a few feet in front of me - whipped around, stumbling back a step. I winced: yet another classic Wyndam-Pryce failure. “Hey, Wesley.” Fred’s eyes flicked briefly to a spot behind me, then she began carefully examining the folder in her hands. “What’s, umm, up?”

I resisted the impulse to playfully mock her turn of phrase. “I was just checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing alright.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m fine.” Fred shot me a brief smile, then looked away. “Y’know, just a bump on the head.”

“From a vampire.”

“Yeah, but I got an ice pack. I’m fine.” I was more than aware they’d got ice packs, as Sam had had the wicked idea of hiding one on the chair I’d just been about to sit on. It had been all I could do not to leap up with a rather undignified yelp in front of everyone as she shot me a mischievous wink. Fred chewed her lip. “Really. You should, y’know, go check on Sam.”

“Already taken care of.” I smiled: Fred was always looking out for me. Making sure I didn’t make any faux pas. “Sam is fine and her bruise has been kissed better.” Fred looked almost nauseous. Must be a side effect of the blow to the head. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Well, I’m fine.” Fred smiled slightly. “Thanks. Really.”

“Are you sure?” I lowered my voice. “Don’t need anyone to kiss it better?”

Fred went tomato-red and stared very intensely at her folder. “Oh, I, no. No, definitely not. I mean… no.” Fred did her best to glare at me reproachfully. “That really wasn’t funny.”

“Oh, I disagree.” I frowned. “Might be too many hours of paperwork talking.” I flashed back to a long evening spent alternating between actually doing paperwork, making little paper airplanes and pitting them against Sam’s, and doing other - even more enjoyable - things with Sam.

“Sorry about that.” Fred smiled sheepishly. “But, y’know, you did ask.”

“That’s true.” Speaking of which… “Actually, I had some questions about a few forms I filled out yesterday. I wanted to go over them with you, make sure I hadn’t made any mistakes. I left an answerphone message at your apartment…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Fred bit her lip. “I wasn’t in last night.”

Or this morning. Still, no need to mention that. According to Sam, Fred had had a lovely time. I’m sure Spike was a lot of fun to be around, not a hint of stuffiness to be found.

“Shall we head to your office?” I produced the sheaf of relevant forms. “Get these over and done with?”

“Oh, I mean,” Fred shuffled her feet. “If you, y’know, wanna go back and check on Sam you can just do that.”

“Sam really doesn’t need me hovering over her right now.” I shrugged. “And I haven’t seen much of you recently. This is a chance to catch up.”

“Sure.” Fred replied quickly, smiling. “That… that sounds nice.”

“Superb.” I pushed the button for the lift. 

“I left you answerphone messages too.” Fred blurted out, looking up at me. “I mean, not recently, during the week you were away. I was… kind of worried about you. And I tried to call every day, and I left messages.”

“Ah.” That explained the random call Sam and I had had. Fred had called to check up on me? That was so typically lovely and thoughtful of her. I really was blessed to know her. 

“Sam may have hung up on you. And deleted all your messages. My answerphone is unintuitive.” I explained. “Thank you for calling, though. Sorry that I didn’t pick up, I was barely in my apartment that week.”

“Oh, no worries.” Fred’s eyes were fixed on the floor display as the lift ascended. “You were busy. I just… I wanted you to know I hadn’t just… ignored that you existed for a week.”

“That’s very appreciated.” I smiled. “If you ever get held at gunpoint by a cyborg duplicate of a family member, I’ll be sure to return the courtesy.”

Fred giggled, then her face became serious. “So…”

“So?” I raised an eyebrow.

Fred fidgeted with her papers for a moment. “How are… how are things going? With… with Sam?”

I couldn’t repress my smile. “Wonderfully.” What a week it had been. “It’s been perfect.”

“That’s really great.”

“And I have you to thank for it.” I smiled at Fred gratefully. “For helping me get over my idiocy prior to Halloween, and determining that Sam was… well… It sounds so juvenile to say ‘interested in me’, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit.” Fred nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“Remind me to make that up to you sometime.” I paused. “But please not with more paperwork.”

“Deal.” Fred smiled weakly, right as the doors pinged open. 

I began looking over the forms as we approached the lab, squinting at the more obscure turns of phrase. God, bureaucracy was confusing here. “I need to search the lab quickly.” Fred waved me on towards her office. “I think my glasses went on the floor somewhere near here when Harmony got the drop on me.”

“Need a hand looking?” I offered, making to follow her.  
“No, no, I’m not Velma. I can find my own glasses. I hope.” Fred frowned. “Just, you go ahead. I’ll catch right up.”

“If you insist.”

“I insist. This is me insisting. Shoo!” Fred began shooing me away and I laughed, shaking my head and heading for Fred’s office.

“God, I missed you Fred.”

A single heartbeat. “I miss you too.” Fred sounded strangely melancholy. I suppose a prolonged stint in a supply closet at the mercy of a potentially psychotic vampire would do that to anyone.

I kept my eyes on the forms as I entered Fred’s office, fanning them out on her desk and retrieving a pen from my pocket which I clicked open and closed thoughtfully. It was several seconds before I noticed the wrapped package on her desk. Package with a note. Perhaps it was work I could give her a hand with. Almost unconsciously, my eyes flicked to the tag on the bag.

‘Fred, a little memento of last night. Never enjoyed a jacuzzi quite so much. Yours, always.’

Not work related. Most likely. I frowned, trying to piece it together… ah. Of course. Spike. Fred must have convinced him to stay. I couldn’t imagine that was hard for her. Especially if a jacuzzi was involved. I chuckled to myself: they certainly hadn’t wasted any time. Good for them. And bravo to Spike for being thoughtful enough to sneak in here the day after their date and leave a gift for Fred. Evidently he still had something of the romantic left in him. 

“Fred.” I smiled to greet her as she walked in, glasses restored to their rightful perch. “I have some paperwork for you, and someone else has left you this.”

“Probably more lab equipment.” Fred murmured, eyes fixed on the package. It occurred to me a second too late that from her angle she couldn’t see the tag, couldn’t realise this was a private gift, and that she shouldn’t be ripping open the bag quite so ferociously in front of me. Like I said, a second too late.

A second too late to stop a _tiny_, green, silky bikini from falling onto the desk. For a second, I simply stared. Good God, that was… Fred in that… 

My brain supplied a very flattering mental image of Fred clad in said bikini (complete with jacuzzi and bubbles) that I swiftly banished. Good Lord. Spike was one lucky vampire. I averted my eyes from Fred’s gift (and from Fred herself, who I feared I would be unable to keep from imagining wearing the offending item and nothing else), feeling myself go bright scarlet.

“Oh my God, I didn’t… I wouldn’t have… I’m so sorry, you… I thought it was just… Wesley, I didn’t-”

“No explanation needed.” I turned back around slowly, relieved to see the desk looking significantly less green and Fred looking significantly more red. Still, for Spike to be so brazen in his gift-giving… things must be quite serious between them. Which was good. They’d complement each other well. And their secret was very much safe with me. I made a mental noteto start keeping tabs on Buffy so I could give Fred fair warning if she was coming to LA. And maybe arrange for some kind of reinforced safe-house. “Paperwork?”

  
“Yes, please.” I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone quite so eager to lose themselves in paperwork.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Hey, Spike.” I smiled slightly as he arrived at my table in the bar. 

“Hey, pet.” He cocked an eyebrow, tapping his fingers on the back of the chair. “This seat taken?”

“No.” I shook my head, fighting off a pleasant fantasy where a different handsome Englishman asked me that question. “Go right ahead.”

“Ta.” Spike sat down, leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You’re, umm, not on a boat to Europe?” I raised an eyebrow. “What about Buffy?”

“Didn’t see the point in invalidating my grand finale.” Spike shrugged. I frowned. “Besides, I got a soul now. Way I see it, that means I got an obligation to do the right thing.”

“And what would that be?” I rested my chin on one hand, looking at him questioningly.

“Keeping your damn fool of a boss from getting eaten alive by Wolfram and Hart, for a start.” Spike grinned. “And taking the rest of you down with him.”

“We can handle it.” I smiled. “Don’t give up on the love of your life because of us.”

“I want to make sure.” Spike smiled. “Besides, I gotta be around to keep taking the piss out of Angel. Otherwise he might get too happy, and I’d end up trying to deal with Angelus using all those vaunted resources to make me and Buffy miserable. And dead.”

“So that’s the reason?” I looked at him doubtfully. “Sure you’re not afraid?”

“Of Buffy? No.” Spike shook his head. “But a very clever friend of mine told me a while back to avoid repeating mistakes. And chasing Buffy, to the exclusion of all else, paying no heed to the wider good? Spike mistake, Exhibit A.”

“I told you to avoid repeating _my_ mistakes.” I pointed out.

“Guess I wasn’t listening. Spike mistake, Exhibit B.” Spike grinned cockily. I kicked him under the table and giggled. Spike continued. “I’ll do better. Promise.”

“That’s appreciated.” I pushed my glass to the side of the table and started as I spotted someone on that side of me. “Oh my God, Harmony’s here.”

“I was just talking to her.” Spike smiled. “She was rather happy somebody cared enough about her to try and ruin her life.”

“You vampires really are weird, you know.” I smiled. “Nemesis magnets, the lot of you.”

“Guess I’d better find a safer alleyway to sleep in.” Spike mused. “In case some ancient foe comes knocking.”

“You could crash on my couch.” I offered. “Y’know, until you find your own place.”

“Nah. Thanks, though.” Spike smiled. “You got quite enough to deal with without me zipping in and out, all hours of the day and night.” 

“I haven’t got anything to deal with.” I forced a smile. 

“Not buying that.”

“I’m very happy for Sam and Wesley.” I twirled my glass on the table. “They’re very good for each other.”

“A wise friend told me not to repeat mistakes.” Spike began.

“You already said this.” I interrupted.

“I know but I’m going somewhere different with it.” Spike paused. “Seems to me your mistake was not telling Wesley how you feel. And you knew it, you told me as much. So why are repeating it?”

“Can we… can we just buy drinks?” I sighed, quashing the part of me urging me to act on Spike’s advice (when I knew it would be wrong to do that, to toy with his heart, to rip them apart). “I’m really sick of everyone wanting to talk to me about this.”

“Alright.” Spike nodded, with the posture of someone retreating to live and fight another day. “Drinks are on me.”

“I thought you didn’t have any walking-around money.” I frowned. 

“I didn’t.” Spike smirked, producing a wedge of cash from his coat. “Until I sold Angel’s precious Viper.”

I laughed. “Oh my God!”

“Gets better.” Spike grinned. “Sold it to some moviemaker. Who’s going to _crash_ it in his upcoming film.”

I clasped my hands over my mouth to try and contain my laughter. Spike’s grin widened. “I can’t wait to see the look on Angel’s face when I leave the footage for that scene on his desk. It’s gonna be bloody priceless.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I put my morning coffee down on the desk and buried my face in my hands. Why? Why did she have to do this to me?

I sighed deeplyand moved my hands away, shaking my head at the chocolate muffins with vanilla icing placed on my desk in a neat pile, each one of them carefully wrapped in clingfilm. My favourite flavour muffin, this time prepped sanitarily for the lab. A neat square of folded card rested on top of the highest muffin. I swallowed and picked it up, unfolding it and reading it.

‘Thanks for your advice, Fred! You’re an angel. I left these to make it up to you - this time they’re lab appropriate (I hope)! Look forward to seeing you soon xxx’.

“Why couldn’t you be evil, Sam?” I whispered, hands closing into fists and eyes closing. “Why do you have to be nice? I feel bad for hating you when you’re this nice.”

But Sam _was_ nice. She was perfect for Wesley, anyone could see that. And she wasn’t going to change anytime soon. It wasn’t their fault I was unhappy. That blame lay squarely at my feet. I had to pick it up and shoulder it. I would abide.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I glanced up at the sound of a knock on the door. Fred. “Hey!” She smiled slightly. “Can I step in quickly?”

“Of course.” I returned the smile as Fred stepped inside and closed my office door behind her. “How can I help you?” Sam had just gone out to coordinate some complicated spellwork by some of our shamans, so I was going to be free for the next twenty minutes or so. 

Fred chewed her lip as she stepped up to the desk, checking over her shoulder. “I just… I wanted to say…” She turned back to me and smiled, placing an envelope carefully on the desk. “Happy Birthday, Wesley.”

I smiled ruefully: every year. Every year Fred tried to convince me to celebrate my birthday. Cordelia, Angel, and even Gunn had tried at first, of course. But after a few years they’d given up. Not Fred. Never Fred. “Thank you, Fred.” I picked up the envelope and raised an eyebrow. “I hope there’s not a gift in here.”

“Just a card.” Fred’s smile widened. “As per our arrangement.” We’d made a deal that Fred would refrain from buying presents for my birthday (although I had a sneaking suspicion she just snuck them into my Christmas load, which always seemed a great deal heavier than anyone else’s) and in exchange I would accept a card from her, although under duress (Fred had sworn to turn my home and office into a scene reminiscent of Privet Drive when the Dursleys hadn’t opened the Hogwarts letter if I didn’t open her card, and I’d taken her threat at face value).

“Lovely.” I smiled. “I promise I’ll open it soon.”

“You’d better.” Fred grinned.

“You know,” I leaned back in my chair and gestured for Fred to sit, which she did. “I am surprised that you and Sam didn’t team up on me. Both try to force me into celebrating.”

“That’d just make you miserable.” Fred turned away slightly, flushing. “Big party and all… you never have fun at those.”

“I had fun at Halloween.” I pointed out, realising immediately what an absurd defence of parties that was. I hadn’t had fun because it was a party, I’d had fun because I was with Fred. “But apart from that, you’re spot on.”

“Don’t worry.” Fred smiled slightly at me. “I’m sure Sam has something special planned.”

I groaned softly, rubbing my temples. Sam hadn’t been acting any differently - perhaps a few more kisses and hugs than normal this morning when I’d picked her up at her house, but not beyond reason - and I’d been hoping that was as far as she was going to go. “Please save me.”

Fred shook her head. “I can’t save you from Sam.” She stood up and made her way to the door. “I… I hope you have a really lovely day, Wes.”

“I hope you have a really lovely day too.” I smiled. Of course Fred had to go, she was busy. Couldn’t spend all day yapping with me.

Fred hovered by the door. She looked almost nervous. Which was ridiculous, because Fred had no reason to be. I must be mis-reading something. “I… do you think you’ll be free for lunch? We haven’t spent much time together since Halloween, and we said we wanted to be better friends so if you still want that…”

“That sounds delightful.” I smiled. “I should be able to snatch forty minutes. Since it’s my birthday.”

“Such a dictator.” Fred smirked and I chuckled. “See you then?”

“One condition.” I kept my eyes on hers.

“What?” Fred shifted from one foot to the other.

“You _don’t_ buy my meal.” I grinned. “You’re not sneaking me a birthday present.”

“Curses.” Fred shrugged and smiled half-heartedly. “Foiled again.”

“Take note, optimist. You can never defeat a true cynic.” I smiled, then lowered my voice and adopted a joking tone. “Besides, if you bought me lunch on my birthday, Sam might start to get jealous.”

Fred’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t, I… I’d never… I’m not… see you later!” Fred practically teleported out of the room. I chuckled and shook my head, returning to my work: Fred was so easy to fluster. Sam wouldn’t be jealous of me having lunch with my best friend. Especially when she was taking me out for dinner tonight. Spike, on the other hand…

He struck me as the possessive type. Might have to watch my back.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I was finding it very hard to pinpoint the exact moment my life had become perfect. But lying down on the sofa, Sam curled up against my side, feeding each other chocolates, and watching a delightful romcom immediately after a gripping murder mystery, after an absolutely delightful dinner (Sam clearly had a knack for planning) I concluded it must have happened at some point. And I’d missed it. I’d probably been distracted by Sam at the time. She was very good at distracting me. I pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s hand, pulling her slightly closer against me as I fed her a little bonbon. Her hair still smelled wonderful.

Sam rested her head on my shoulder, worming it gently into the crook of my shoulder. I rubbed her back gently, taking her free hand with mine. She squeezed. I squeezed back. I was eventually forced to conclude that although Sam had chosen an excellent film, I was simply unable to focus on it. I was much more captivated by tracing small circles on Sam’s back and neck, in twining my hand in her lovely soft hair, resting my head on top of hers, delighting in the warmth she was radiating. In return, Sam was tenderly caressing the back of my hand, sitting almost in my lap, and leaning back against my chest. “Wesley?” Sam said quietly.

“Sam?” I murmured, squeezing her hand.

“I don’t think either of us are watching this film, are we?”

“I’m inclined to agree.” 

“Good.” Sam clicked the off button on the remote, tilted her head so she was looking up at me, and tugged me down into a very pleasant kiss. One kiss that turned into dozens. 

“I… I know that you don’t like presents. Or your birthday. But I hope you liked tonight?” Sam looked up at me imploringly, lashes fluttering, emerald eyes wide and impossibly beautiful.

“I loved tonight.” I rubbed my nose against hers, then kissed her. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sam smiled against my lips and kissed me more passionately. “So… presents are banned… but this is… it’s really only a sort of present…”  
“What’s a ‘sort of’ present?” I smiled, stroking Sam’s cheek with one hand and keeping the other gently pressed to the small of her back.

“It’s something I bought. For me. That I’ll use, but I think you’ll like.” Even in the exceptionally dim light, I could tell Sam was blushing. 

I realised why when I saw her beginning to unbutton her blouse and my mouth went dry. “Sam,” I caught her hands with my own and kissed her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” Sam kissed me back and after a moment, I relinquished her hands and pulled off my own jumper. Once I’d finished pulling it over my head, I was treated to a view of Sam shrugging out of her blouse and hesitantly dropping it onto the floor. I swallowed.

She looked incredibly beautiful. “That’s a very attractive piece of lingerie.” I just about managed to say. Speaking was a challenge. Tearing my eyes away was definitely impossible.

“So this is a present you don’t mind then?” Sam purred, lips grazing my own for a second before she withdrew.

“This one I like.” I swallowed, and managed to look away from the tantalisingly revealing red, lacy item back to Sam’s face. She looked inordinately pleased. We kissed for a long time. “Very very much.”

“I’m glad.” Sam murmured, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against mine and putting her lips to my ear before whispering. “Just wait until you see the matching piece.”

“I…really don’t think I’m prepared to handle that.” It was my turn to blush.

“I think you are. We are.” Sam swallowed, and she suddenly looked very nervous. “If you’d like to?”

“I want to.” I whispered, twining one hand in Sam’s hair. “Are you sure?”

“Completely.” Sam smiled. “Now, who’s talking too much?”

“Oh, it’s definitely me.” I managed before Sam kissed me. “And I’m going to stop doing that right now.”

“Good call.” Sam whispered against my skin. 

It was the only birthday I’d ever had that felt magical.

\+ + + + + + +

**Lorne**

I looked across the lobby and sighed dejectedly. Nothing could ever go right, could it? 

Enter stage left: Wesley and Sam exiting the elevator the day after his birthday, hand-in-hand. Complete with giggling, whispering, cuddling, tender touching, and kissing. I could sense the honeymoon glow coming off of them: they didn’t even need to sing for me to see what they’d been up to. How happy they both were. Powers not required.

Exit stage right: Fred Burkle, clutching a folder, wiping her eyes in an attempt to prevent tears not yet arrived from making their entrance in response to the sight before her. She didn’t need to sing for me to see how torn up she was by this, by them. And Wesley had no idea. No idea he was hurting Fred. No idea she felt anything more for him than friendship. The parallels between this and the beginnings of Fred’s relationship with Gunn with Wesley looking on, trapped in abject misery, were far too many to name. 

Not for the first time since our conversation, I considered damning Fred’s wishes, dragging Wesley into my office, sitting him down and explaining to him the way Fred felt. He wouldn’t believe me at first, of course. But once his eyes were opened to the possibility, he’d see. He’d see Fred was hurting, no matter how good she was at hiding it from him. He’d figure out why.

But what would that accomplish, besides tearing him between the two of them? Jeopardising his relationship with Sam - which made the sweet young woman so happy her heart was fit to burst, I could see it in her aura every day -which was blossoming into a lovely romance, and throwing up an impossible mess of drama and complications between all three of them?

I really hated love triangles. Especially when everyone involved deserved only the best. 

This could never end well. Not for anyone. I had no idea what to do. I felt as helpless as I had in that jacuzzi.

\+ + + + + + +

**Lorne**

“I wish it wasn’t wrong to eat Chinese food in a jacuzzi.” Fred frowned from across the jacuzzi. 

“Pardon?” I sipped my most recent Sea Breeze and raised an eyebrow.

“If it wasn’t wrong and incredibly gross to eat Chinese food in a jacuzzi,” Fred explained, swishing one hand through the bubbles. “I could get out and grab those leftover dumplings and eat them in here.”

I laughed. Fred was still hungry. Of course. “Pumpkin, you could always get out, eat them, then hop back in.”

“No way.” Fred shook her head. “It’s much too nice and warm in here - especially with the bubbles - and much too cold out there in comparison. Plus, I’d get one of your chairs all damp, which wouldn’t be fair when you’ve been such a lovely host.”

“Darling, what kind of host would I be if I complained about you using a chair to eat leftover Chinese food when you were craving it?” I raised an eyebrow. “Soaked or not, attire irrelevant, I would be a terrible host! And that I am not. I am _the_ Host.”

Fred smiled. “That you are. Who but the Host could find me a swimsuit in the middle of the night?”

I grinned and spread my arms wide. “You command an entire scientific laboratory. Wesley can summon up eldritch knowledge man was not meant to know. I can produce any item of clothing or costume at any time, on demand.” Fred giggled. “Especially when my friend is _begging_ me to try out the luxury jacuzzi in my apartment.”

“You’re a great friend, Lorne.” Fred smiled at me broadly. A genuine smile. Soft, brown eyes warm. Oh, Wesley. Greatest of all fools, to miss out on this. “I… I think that a lot of people would choose to be green. Your shade. If they had the choice.”

I cocked my head, frowning. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. “Fred-”

“Let me rephrase that.” Fred sat up, rising out of the water slightly, an exquisite vision of loveliness. And perhaps drunkenness. “I only mean that… if people were offered the choice… I think almost everyone would choose to be more like you.”  
“Demonic?” I joked, raising an eyebrow.

“Kind.” Fred shuffled along the seat towards me and slung one arm over my shoulders. “Sweet. Charismatic. Musically talented. Always there for his friends. The best kind of person.”

“Oh, Fred…” I was at a loss for words. My heart felt swollen to double size, and I was overcome with affection for the infinitely wondrous woman next to me. “I don’t know what to say… that’s the nicest thing _anyone _has ever said to me. You’re the best kind of person too.”

“No, no I’m not.” Fred rested her head on my shoulder and shook her head firmly.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t be silly. You’re just like me.” I paused. “Except not green. And smarter. And Wonder Woman.”

“I’m not Wonder Woman.” Fred sniffed. “Wonder Woman is strong.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” I shook my head and smiled at her. Oh, love was a terrible thing. Oh, it could be beautiful when it was requited, but lovesickness was awful. Awful. It was awful what it did to people. And especially awful when the person so made sick was so deserving of that love, in fact _had_ that love but could not receive it, for convoluted, silly reasons. And Fred was so strong, so independent, to see her so hurting, so torn up…

Oh, if Wesley had any idea how he was making her feel he’d fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Not that this was Wesley’s fault. Or anyone’s. 

“I’ve never hurt like this before.” Fred closed her eyes, just too late to keep two small tears from running down her cheeks. “I… when other people didn’t choose me before, I could handle it. Because they weren’t like Wesley, they weren’t so important to me, such a huge part of my life and… and the women I lost out to, they were different to me.”

“Different?” I frowned.

“You know, they had different qualities.” Fred opened her eyes and sniffled. “They were… sometimes they were sportier, or had a different shared interest, or we were different in a dozen other ways. We had different good qualities. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, but Fred-”

“Sam’s not like that.” Fred shook her head firmly. “She’s not different, she’s… she’s _better._”

“Fred, that’s crazy talk, don’t-”

“She’s just as smart as me, or smarter.” Fred almost choked on the words. “She’s kinder, sweeter, more level-headed… she doesn’t have my temper. She’s funnier, lovelier, _prettier_, and she’s never broken his heart and…”

Oh God. What had this mess done to her? How could what have happened have possibly hurt her like this?

“I can handle losing out to someone who’s different to me.” Fred repeated quietly**. **“But she’s better. In every way that counts. Winifred 2.0. There’s nothing I have that she doesn’t have, _nothing,_ and he loves her, and he’ll never love me and… and I’ll be alone.”

I was so shocked, it had taken me five seconds to come up with a response. In which time Fred had collapsed into a fitful sleep next to me. I’d woken her up - she’d been a zombie - enough to get her changed and into a real bed and the next morning she’d forgotten it entirely. But I was worried it was what she was thinking. 

I had no idea how to help her. I’d never missed Cordy more. Cordy would _never_ have let this happen. She’d have caught on faster, worked something out, delayed Sam, done _something_… I’d just stood around like a lemon and let things go to hell in a hand-basket.

I wish Cordy was here. She’d know what to do. 

I didn’t. If I tried, I’d just make everything even worse.


	8. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend returns, to offer some perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the break!

**Wesley**

“Harmony, have you heard from Angel?” I frowned.

“Nope.” Harmony shook her head. “Not since he went upstairs to rest. And you and _Fred_ said you didn’t want to bother him, with the runic stuff?”

Harmony looked very cross. And the way she’d said Fred’s name… “Is there a problem, Harmony?” I asked quietly, examining her for a trace of deception. If it had been up to me, Harmony would have been out of here after she’d thrown Fred and Sam in a closet. They could have been hurt. They could have been killed. But Angel maintained she was harmless.

“It’s just…” Harmony sighed. “I thought Fred and I were bonding. Gal pals. Then, after the whole incident, I start having a drink with Spike, talking about my crappy day, and he spots Fred and bam! Off he goes, barely says goodbye, to go drink the night away with her. And there’s me all on my lonesome.”

“Harmony, what did you expect?” I raised an eyebrow. “Fred doesn’t care any less about you just because she wants to have a private drink with Spike. They’re close, after all.”

“Yeah sure, but I mean being close isn’t-” Harmony’s eyes widened. “_Oh_, when you say close, you mean as in totally-”

“Tell me if you hear anything from Angel.” I instructed her, not especially keen to hear where the sentence was going.

I walked back into my own office, rubbing my eyes. This mess with Drake was really taking it out of me. And with Angel gone, I was shouldering most of his workload. Still, I was managing. Thanks to Sam. Both because she was helping me with my workload and making my hours off remarkably lovely.

“Any word on Angel?” Sam smiled up at me from our desk as I entered my office.

“He’s still resting.” I sighed. “I haven’t ever known him this tired. Well, once.”

“Once?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “When? I thought vampires almost never got tired.”

“It was when Darla had just returned.” I sighed, collapsing into my chair and closing my eyes. “He was effectively kept awake even while sleeping. Kept constantly exhausted, broken, hallucinating. One time when I woke him up, he almost strangled me.”

“Hazard of the job, though, right?” I heard Sam stand up beside me. 

“He was naked at the time.” I grimaced at the memory.

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” Sam began to gently massage my shoulders and I groaned happily, feeling the tension flowing out of me.

“Thank you.” I smiled. “You’re incredible.”

“I read a book.” Sam changed what she was doing almost imperceptibly and I couldn’t keep a whimper from coming out. “I expect you to read it sooner rather than later, and return the favour.”

“Deal.” I smiled, imagining my hands gliding over her, easing her burden, causing her to make the kinds of noises I was making.

“Except I’ll be lying down on my bed. Or yours.” She kissed the back of my neck gently and I sighed happily. “And there’ll be none of this fabric nonsense in the way that I’m having to deal with.”

I laughed. “You’re welcome to dispose of that.”

“Not in the office. If we start doing things like that here, I’ll never be able to focus on work here ever again. Plus I think Harmony can see us if she cranes her neck.”

“Or Eve might have hidden cameras.” I frowned. “She seems the type.”

I felt Sam shudder. “She really gives me the creeps.”

“Anything I can help with?” I opened my eyes and turned around to face her.

“No, it’s fine.” Sam shrugged and sat down beside me. “She just… she always makes these weird little comments. And the way she looks at me… like she’s in on some big secret, and she’s dying to let me know. Y’know?”

“She’s always like that.” I frowned. “She’s the worst.”

“And recently, it’s been different.” Sam frowned, propping one elbow on the desk and resting her chin on one hand. “Whenever I catch her looking my way, she always looks… pleased. It’s weird.”

“Maybe she’s pleased because you do such excellent work for the company.” I posited. “Maybe I should have Angel give you a raise.”

“Please do.” Sam grinned. “There are a few first edition books I can’t _wait_ to get my hands on.”

“That sounds a worthy cause.” I smiled, kissing her gently.

“Definitely.” Sam kissed me. “And speaking of worthy causes, we should probably go check on Angel.”

“I suppose we should.” I frowned. “I hope he’s wearing something this time.”

“If he’s not, I promise to avert my eyes.” Sam bit her lip and smiled, elbowing me gently.

“You’d better.” I stood up. “Or I’ll call HR on you for inappropriate conduct with a superior.”

“If you do that, I’ll call HR on _you_ for inappropriate conduct with a direct employee.” Sam’s eyes gleamed.

“You wouldn’t dare.” I waved Harmony away as she stood up to stop us going in, keeping my eyes on Sam. 

“Maybe not.” Sam’s face screwed up thoughtfully. “But you would really, _really_ owe me.”

I smiled, pushing the door closed behind me and slipping my fingers through Sam’s. “Like returning the favour of the massage?” I pulled her to a gentle stop.

“More than that.” Sam smiled, backing up slowly against the wall of Angel’s office.

“How much more?” I murmured, moving my other hand up to stroke her cheek gently, my lips almost grazing hers. The temptation to kiss her was all but overwhelming.

“A lot.” Sam swallowed. “Lots and lots.”

“Noted.” I closed the last few inches between us, kissing her as intensely as I could, revelling in the feeling of her lips against mine, of Sam’s arms wrapping around me. I held her tightly to me, kissing her until I was so desperate for air I had no choice but to pull away.

Sam rested her forehead on mine, cheeks flushed, eyes fiery. “Lots like that.” She breathed. “But, please, not again. Not here, right now.”

“Why?” I dipped to kiss the perfect curve of her neck, sliding my hands down to rest on her waist.

“Because if you keep going,” Sam gasped. “I’m… I’m going to do something really ill-advised…”

“Tell me more.” I pressed a final kiss to her neck and slowly straightened up, stroking the underside of her chin, enjoying the shiver I felt pass through her.

“I don’t want Angel to fire me for making a mess in his office.” Sam almost whimpered, eyes closing as I kissed her lips chastely in response.

“He didn’t mind when Eve did it…” I smiled. “Although he was involved in that incident…”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Angel and Eve? They…”

“Special circumstances.” I smiled. “Lorne asked them to. Mystically.”

“Oh.” Sam looked relieved. “At Halloween?”

“Have I mentioned before we’d have had a lot of fun if you’d attended?”

“Yes.” Sam nodded. “Still, there’s always next year… right?”

She looked at me hopefully. Oh, Sam. “I very much hope so.” I squeezed her. “Unless you’re planning to replace me before then?”

“Definitely not.” Sam beamed. “I’m only just starting to break you in, don’t want to go through all the work of training another one.”

“Very flattering.” I darted in and bit her lip gently, before pulling back. Sam made a little whimpering noise. “I’ll just have to make sure to perform especially well, to protect my position.”

“Feel free.” Sam smiled shyly, then swallowed and looked at her feet. “We should get Angel…”

“Are you sure?” I smiled and whispered in her ear. “This office is very comfortable. Large sofa. Cushions. Privacy windows. Far more appropriate than ours for non-professional interaction.”

“Why don’t we wake Angel up…” Sam swallowed. “And then… immediately go back to your place?”

“Hmm.” I kissed her cheek tenderly. “Deal. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sam’s green eyes shone with affection and in that moment I wouldn’t have been able to resist kissing her for anything in the world.

We restrained ourselves to just holding hands as the lift ascended to Angel’s apartment. squeezed Sam’s hand and smiled, staring into her eyes. I would have been happy to stare into those emerald depths forever. Especially when I wagered I could see such happiness and affection glowing in them. “You’re so beautiful…” I murmured. “And smart, and wonderful… What on earth do you see in me?”

“A handsome man, the smartest I ever met…” Sam leaned in to kiss me gently. “Who’s the sweetest person I know, and loves me very much.”

“I don’t know about the first three of those descriptors,” I smiled. “But you’re spot on with the fourth.”

The lift doors pinged open much too soon. I stiffened, unwrapping my arms. I heard _whimpering._

“Sam, stay back.” I whispered, advancing slowly into the apartment. I carefully surveyed the apartment: dark. No lights. No sounds of movement. Nobody here. Except Angel, lying on the floor, thrashing weakly, a hideous insect on his chest. I lunged forwards, ripped the thing off his chest and hurled it into the wall. It made a very satisfying crunch, blue blood spattering against the paint.

“Angel, are you alright?” I dropped down beside him, checking him for wounds: nothing. His skin looked a bit sore where the creature - a Selminth parasite, if I wasn’t mistaken - had latched on.

“Wesley?” Angel frowned. “What the… what the hell happened?”

“The parasite paralysed you, and caused you to hallucinate.” I explained, wrapping an arm under his back and heaving him upright. “Let’s get you to a chair, shall we?”

“Yes. Please.” Angel nodded, collapsing gratefully not a chair. “Why’d you… come up here?”

“Sam was worried about you.” I explained. “We came to check you were alright.”

“Thank God… for Sam…” Angel smiled weakly.

I nodded and grinned. “Every day.” I should probably get her advice on this. Sam could look at the creature, confirming my hypothesis or advancing an alternative. “Sam! It’s safe, come give me a hand!” She could also take care of Angel while I called Gunn, Fred, and Lorne.

She appeared around the corner, looking very relieved, stashing away her phone. “I called Mr Gunn, Lorne, and Fred. They’re on their way.”

“You read my mind.” I smiled. “Here, take a look at this…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Lucky you two showed up when you did.” Angel shook his head as he finished his story, smiling at Sam and Wesley. “If you hadn’t come looking for me then…”

“You might have been a vegetable.” Charles swallowed, looking over to them. “Thanks, Wes.”

“Thank Sam.” He shrugged. “She convinced me to check on Angel.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I forced a smile. She flushed slightly, looking away.

Sam saves Angel from becoming a vegetable. Yippee. While I worked away in my lab, far from all my friends, totally oblivious to the danger. Double yippee. I was _useless._ Completely useless.

“How could the parasite have got in here?” Lorne frowned. “Could it have been one of ours?”

“It could have escaped from one of our storage facilities.” I rubbed my forehead and sighed: wouldn’t that be typical? I cause a mess, Sam cleans it up. “I’ll go do a thorough check.”

“There’s no need.” Angel shook his head, looking around the group. “Eve did this. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not saying we can trust Eve.” Charles frowned. “But she works for the Partners, and I doubt their masterplan involves turning you into a vegetable.”

“Then she’s got her own agenda.” Angel scowled. “Trust me, it’s her. No two ways about it.”

“So… how do we deal with that?” I frowned. “Look out for bugs in future?”

“Sam,” Wesley looked at her expectantly. “You’ve worked with Eve longer than us. What’s your take?”

“Umm…” Sam chewed her lip thoughtfully, frowning. “I’ve never known her to go against the Partners’ orders before. She’s manipulative and cunning but… not brave. She’d have to _really_ like her chances in order to defy them.”

“So she must have backup of some kind.” Wesley mused, nodding slowly. “Another player, who wanted Angel incapacitated for whatever reason.”

“Alright. Wes, Gunn get on that.” Angel sat up straight. “Use informants, call in favours. Figure out who Eve’s mystery backer might be. Lorne, keep an eye on Eve when you can, be subtle because we can’t afford to let her catch on. Sam, try and find out where she could have found a Selminth parasite.” Everyone began heading off to perform their tasks.

Angel paused, seemed to hesitate, then turned to me. “Fred, go do your thing.”

“Got it.” I forced a smile: the only person without an actual job to do. God, that felt awful. “Call if you need a hand. Or some company.”

“You got it.” Angel smiled weakly. “Think I might get some real sleep right now. If I’m not back in eight hours, check for bugs.” I laughed and shook my head as I walked into the elevator. At least Angel was well enough to make jokes. The doors on the elevator had closed by the time I realised I wasn’t the sole occupant.

“Guess we’re not gonna get to go back to your place like we planned.” I stiffened upon hearing Sam’s whisper behind me.

“Not yet at least.” Wesley murmured in response. “I told you we should have taken some time on Angel’s sofa.”

I felt my cheeks burn red as my skin crawled unpleasantly. They must think I couldn’t hear them. But if I told them I could hear them they’d know I _had_ heard them and… oh God, _why_ did I have to listen to this?

“But then we’d have just been there… y’know, while he was up there having nightmares!” Sam replied. “I’d have felt awful!”

“I could have managed the guilt. Reward to downside ratio very much in my favour.”

I heard what sounded like Sam thumping Wesley playfully and felt my stomach twist. “Ow.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to go looking for Selminth escapees. I _hate_ the storage facilities. Insects really freak me out.”

“I’ll come along, then. To protect you.”

“My hero.”

“And if we happen to find some secluded corners-”

Another thump. “I am _not_ kissing you in the middle of an insect menagerie.” The tiniest of pauses, just long enough to draw breath. “You’ll have to wait until we get back to the car.”

“That’s going to be a problem.” I heard them kiss behind me and repressed the urge to shudder or whimper. “But I’ll try my hardest to be patient.”

“You’d better.”

Mercifully, the elevator doors opened. I walked away as quickly as I could without being suspicious, desperate to escape them, to find work to do, to distract myself from thoughts of Wesley and Sam, to hide from the awful ache in my chest, my sides, that leapt back into me whenever I heard or saw him. 

“Fred!” I was halfway across the lobby when I heard him call out. 

I braced myself and fixed a smile on my face, turning around to see him approaching me as Sam flitted back into their office. “Hey, Wesley. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” Wesley shrugged. “I just… haven’t seen you much these last few days. Wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m swell.” The lie came easily. “Just busy, busy, busy. You know me.”

“My condolences.” Wesley smiled. “Still, at least you weren’t passed out in your apartment with a parasite attached to your chest, about to enter a vegetative state, haunted by nightmarish hallucinations.”

“Gee, aren’t I lucky?” I smiled. 

“Something like that.” Wesley checked his watch. “Do you think you’ll finish work at a decent time tonight? I don’t have any plans, so perhaps a few of us could go out for a drink? You, me, and Sam? Plus Spike, if he’s free.”

I couldn’t spend time with him. Spending time with him _hurt._ Especially when Sam was with him. Which seemed to be always.

“Sorry, I‘m kinda buried.” I smiled apologetically. “You guys have fun though!”

“I’ll do my best.” Wesley frowned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I think I have to call a car to take us to an insect storage facility.”

I managed to wait until I was alone in the elevator before I started hitting the wall. It wasn’t _fair._

God, what was I talking about? Nothing was ever fair.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I still can’t believe Andrew and the slayers just _took_ Dana.” Sam frowned. “Snatched her away. Like we’re the enemy, when we’re on the same side.”

“I’m still stuck at the part where Dana removed Spike’s hands.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “Fred looked distraught.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Sam swallowed. “I mean…if some lunatic had… had chopped off my…”

I crossed the office in two steps to wrap her in a hug. “I would never let anything happen to you.” I kissed the top of Sam’s head. “I promise.”

“I know.” Sam hugged me tightly. “But I’m safe. I’m just… here. You’re the one out there, charging around, being a hero. If you’d found her before Spike had…”

“I would never have got close to her.” I smiled reassuringly. “I’m very careful.”

“Please be as careful as you can.” She whispered. “I can’t… I don’t know what I would do if… if you…”

“Collect the sizeable life insurance and live like a queen?” I suggested.

“Don’t joke about that.” Sam glared up at me. Her gaze softened after a moment, one hand coming up to gently caress the scar on the left side of my neck. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.” I looked at her hand thoughtfully. I hadn’t thought about that particular injury in a very long time. “Doesn’t even ache.”

“A few centimetres.” Sam shook her head disbelievingly. “If one knife, carried by one lunatic, over a year and a half ago had been just a few centimetres closer to you… I’d have never met you.”

“The world turns on the tiniest of changes.” I smiled. “For example, if a certain gorgeous young archaeologist hadn’t stumbled on a dangerous mummy, I’d have never got to meet you.”

“I think my life would have been very incomplete without you in it.” Sam’s hand moved up to cup my cheek. “My Wesley. My love. My handsome Bookman.”

“My life would have been unbearable without you.” I responded quietly, and bent down to kiss her. 

“I swear,” Sam whispered, resting her head on my shoulder and hugging me closer to her. “You’ll never have to live without me.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Angel wanted us to leave Wolfram and Hart. Stable doors and bolted horses came to mind.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” Angel said calmly. That worried me. This wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction, or a rage-induced tantrum. No. Angel had thought this through. Which meant he was going to be really stubborn about this decision. Whether it was right or wrong. “I’m resigning.”

“Gee, it seems like a ripe topic for discussion to me.” Lorne sank onto the side of the chair I was sitting in like a man carrying a very heavy burden.

“What happened last night was tragic.” Wesley stepped forwards, everything about him positioned to placate. “It’s a terrible setback, but-”

It hadn’t got any easier with time. I’d really hoped that living with it - or rather, without him - would get easier as time passed. But days had become weeks, which had become six weeks. Six weeks since I’d worked out how I felt. Six weeks since Sam and Wesley had sunk into their perfect, happy bubble. Six weeks that felt like six-hundred.

“Setback, Wes?” Angel stood up and started to pace. “It’s status quo. Evil wins, ‘cause instead of just wiping it out, we negotiate with it. Or, worse, _for_ it.

“What do you want us to do, Angel?” I tore my gaze away from Wesley. “Because I… I can’t do any better than I’ve been doing. We’re all doing our best, we… I can’t do _more_.”

“It’s not that you’re not doing your jobs.” Angel sighed. “It’s that we shouldn’t be doing these jobs in the first place… or I shouldn’t. Coming here was fundamentally my call, which means it was my mistake.”

It had seemed like _such_ a good idea. So tempting. That was how evil got you, I guess. You didn’t randomly throw your morals to the wind one day. No. They took your soul by hundredths, by thousandths. A compromise there, a walk-back here, just a _little_ bit of give-and-take on the side… then one day you’d open your eyes, and you’d be gone. Or you wouldn’t, that was the tragic thing. You’d keep shuffling along, wearing a smile, acting like you’re doing your best work. But you’d have swapped sides. Going through the motions of doing good, when your methods, your _decision_ to be corrupted, had already advanced the cause of evil far more than the demons you’re stopping ever could have. 

We shouldn’t have come here. I really wish we hadn’t. That we’d been safe, been _brave_, and dared to stand up for what we believed in, against the arguments and the cold, rational logic of Wolfram and Hart. We should have examined the power we were offered, peeled away the artifice, and dared to balk at the price. Instead, we’d ignored it. Deluded ourselves that we could save the world by working for unspeakable evils that wanted it to end on their terms. Evil by degrees. A road paved with good intentions. 

But maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe I was just being biased, selfish, because if we hadn’t made that deal, if we hadn’t come here, Sam would never have appeared in Wesley’s life, and I would have had a chance to be with him.

“Let’s not start pretending this was a lease with an option to buy.” I snapped my focus back to Charles.

“So we’re trapped here, then? That’s what you’re saying?” I asked, quietly. I couldn’t find the energy to raise my voice.

“That’s their MO.” Wesley grimaced. “Identify high-value potential assets, then entrap them. That’s why many of our staff had to sign perpetual contracts. It’s what they did to Sam.”

“We don’t have those contracts. I think they’d let us out.” Angel leaned forwards in his chair. “I think you don’t want to leave, Gunn.”

“Maybe I don’t. Because I believe in what we’re doing.” Gunn folded his arms and gazed back at Angel unflinchingly. “I know Wesley does, too.”

“Gunn!” Wesley frowned.

“Is that true?” I fixed Wesley with a look. “If you were offered the choice right now, to leave, no strings attached, would you?”

The room was utterly silent.

Wesley thought for a good ten seconds. “No.” He announced. “We’re doing what’s right. Think of how many lives we’ve saved, the good we’ve done-”

“The profits we’ve made the Senior Partners.” Angel interrupted. “You think the good we’ve done is a drop in the bucket, compared to what we’ve let slide? We save a couple of people from a client _today_, but that client keeps on going, and they’ll do a hell of a lot of damage in the long run. And newsflash, you won’t be here in the long run! Not on the timescale the Partners are playing on. Working within the system stops us from doing any long-term, real damage to them! We’re stuck playing by their rules, safely contained, tangled in their web.”

“Angel, where is this coming from?” Wesley frowned.

“Where did you being on Wolfram and Hart’s side come from?” Angel demanded.

“Maybe you’re biased, Wesley.” I said quietly. “Maybe there are external factors influencing your outlook on this company.”

“Such as?” Wesley raised an eyebrow, eyes cold.

“You’re gonna make her say it?” Lorne looked at him meaningfully.

“I think I’d like one of you to.” Wesley looked between me and Lorne. “Because the argument I think you’re trying to make implicitly is absurd.”

Angel’s phone rang. Probably another emergency for us all to scurry off and deal with. Another crisis for us to partially solve or kick down the road. More distractions from the real crisis.

“Yeah. It’s Angel.” Angel grabbed the phone. A second later, he suddenly sat forward in his chair, animated. “What?”

“What is it?” I frowned.

Angel moved the phone away from his mouth. “It’s Cordelia. She’s awake.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Lorne!” Cordelia exclaimed, pulling him into a hug.

“Are you huggable?” Lorne laughed, hugging her with equal enthusiasm. 

Incident with the runaway demon aside, Cordelia’s arrival here was going better than expected. She hadn’t attacked any of the employees for being evil, made any comment that went beyond appropriately sarcastic, and nobody had tried to kill her. So things were good thus far. Of course, she had yet to meet the person I was most anxious about…

I’d advised Sam to stay out of the way while we had our reunion, which she’d agreed was an excellent idea, promising to swing by once we’d all done the appropriate amount of hugging. The last thing I wanted was for Cordy to get a negative first impression of Sam as someone intruding on us, when nothing could be further from the truth.

“It is so good to see-” Cordy’s eyes widened and I leaned against the door, smiling at the shocked expression on her face as she beheld Gunn. “Oh my God, Gunn? You have _hair._”

“Oh, ha, yeah what did you think, that I was prematurely bald?” Gunn rubbed his head sheepishly and grinned. Cordy’s look of surprise didn’t waver. “I wasn’t.” He supplied and hugged Cordelia, prompting laughter from everyone.

Fred moved up behind them to gently pat Gunn on the shoulder. He moved away. “Oh! Hey, Fred!” Cordy beamed.

“Hi, Cordy!” Fred smiled happily and they hugged. 

It was the first time I’d seen Fred smile - genuinely - in much too long. Something really seemed to have been getting her down these past couple of weeks. I didn’t know if it was due to a heavy workload, or if there were problems between her and Spike, or something else entirely. I obviously couldn’t _ask_, because she’d refuse to tell me anything, but I’d been trying to make her feel better. Inviting her out to lunches, dinners, museums, sometimes just for drinks with everyone… she nearly always refused. I’d gone to Lorne with my worries and he’d brushed me off, telling me there was nothing I could do and he was working on it. That hadn’t stopped me worrying: I had no idea what was bothering Fred, but I felt an ache in my chest when I saw her walking around without any of her usual vivacity, taking no pleasure in the job she’d previously loved (at least the scientific aspects of it), and looking - at times - near despondent. It made me feel awful that I didn’t know how to help her.

Cordy would know. I could talk to her, soon, figure out what was bothering Fred, and we could tackle it together. Or perhaps - given my track record of trying to improve Fred’s mood - it would be best if I sat back and left it to the professional.

“How’s my favourite girl?” Cordy smiled, clasping Fred’s hand in hers and smiling at her broadly.

“Oh, I’m good.” Fred smiled conspiratorially, but I thought I sensed a hint of strain in her voice. “They gave me a whole lab! Machines, funding, staff, everything!” 

“That sounds great! I have _got_ to come see that later.” Cordy leaned in. “Do you have coffee?”

“_I’m_ running the place, of course there’s coffee.” Fred smiled back at her.

“Super!” Cordy glanced over at me. “Are you and Wes running that show?”

“Oh, no, he’s got his own gig.” Fred looked over at me. “Magic books, spies, a vault…”

“It’s pretty nice.” I admitted. “Some excellent perks.” Cordy’s glance at me was strangely… _knowing._

“So, where’s Connor?” Cordy glanced around like she was looking for someone, hiding under a chair or in a corner. 

“Who?” Gunn raised an eyebrow.

“Connor.” Cordy looks confused. Was he a friend of hers I didn’t know? “Isn’t he… Angel, where’s your-”

I heard a high-pitched shriek from behind me and sidestepped neatly out of Harmony’s path as she charged through the doorway and tackled Cordelia into a hug. “Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Likewise!” Cordy glared at Angel. “Especially since the last time I saw you, you tried to _kill me_.” Oh, right. That had been a long time ago. What was it… going on almost three years now. My, how times changed. 

“Umm…” Angel rubbed the back of his neck. “Harmony, she’s… actually my secretary.”

“Oh, well things just keep getting better and better.” She raised both eyebrows and cast Angel a meaningful look.

“I know!” Harmony squealed, as oblivious as ever. “You and me, together again! So, how was the coma?”

“There’s someone else standing behind you.” Cordy looked over Angel’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Am I gonna get tackled again?”

I glanced behind me and couldn’t help but smile. Sam was hovering behind Angel and me, smiling nervously. “Ah, yes. Cordy, I’d like you to meet Sam.” I smiled, taking Sam’s hand and leading her into the office. “Sam, this is Cordelia.”

“I’ve heard so much about you!” Sam gushed, walking up to Cordy and smiling nervously, sticking out her hand and brushing some loose strands of hair behind her shoulders. “I’m Samantha Jennings. Sam, for short, though I guess Wes just said that and… I work for Wesley. Mr Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Oh, it’s lovely to meet you.” Cordy smiled, shaking Sam’s hand. “In what capacity do you work for him?”

“Deputy.” Sam shot me a grin. “All the work, none of the credit.”

“So you’ve been here a while, then.” Cordy said meaningfully, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“A couple of years. Sam saved my life. She also saved Angel from becoming a vegetable.” I couldn’t let Cordy get the wrong idea about Sam just because she worked at Wolfram and Hart, it wasn’t like she’d had a choice. “In the comatose, rather than the literal sense. She also brews excellent tea.”  
“And she likes Barry Manilow.” Angel grinned goofily. “What’s not to like?”

“You guys, stop it.” Sam complained, cheeks going pink.

“Well, it was… nice to meet you, Sam.” Cordy looked her over appraisingly. “I look forward to learning more about each other.”

“That sounds fantastic.” Sam smiled, backing away. I re-took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly: Sam had done great. That had gone as well as could be expected, given Cordelia’s opinion of the people who worked for Wolfram and Hart. I’d have to sit down with her sometime, explain Sam’s special circumstances. And do my best to endure the ribbing and interrogating I was doubtless going to receive from Cordy. Fred would probably eagerly join in, now she had someone to tag team me with.

“I think Cordy’s had enough excitement for one day.” Angel stepped forwards. “Why doesn’t everyone get back to work?” Fair enough. I had plenty of time to spend with Cordy now, no need to smother her. Especially since I rather thought Angel might like to do that. 

“So, what’s on our agenda, Sam?” I followed her out of Angel’s office, waving goodbye to Fred as she made for the lifts.

“Pretty standard stuff, really.” Sam shrugged. “There’s a warlock in South LA we should probably work out a way to contain soon, plus there’s the summit in a few days…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Oh my God.” Cordy stared at the cup of tea she was holding, then looked up at Sam. “You have a gift.”

“Told you so.” I smiled, staying bent over my work at the desk. “Best tea maker on this continent.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Sam protested, halfway to the door. “So ridiculous!”

“You’re being stubborn.” I smiled. “And so am I, but I’m better at it. So just accept your fate. Cordy, tell her how stubborn I am.”

“He’s incredibly stubborn. As a mule with terminal toothache.” Cordy lounged in her chair, sipping tea.

“Thanks.” I smiled, then frowned. “Hey!”

“Ask for something stupid…” Cordy grinned right back.  


“Cordelia, can you make sure he doesn’t do anything too silly while I go grab the notes I need from my office?” Sam pleaded with Cordy.

“I’ll do my best.” Cordy kept grinning.

“God, why did I introduce you two?” I groaned, resting my head in my hands. “Now all I need is for Fred to be here. Complete the trifecta of doom.”

“You don’t mean that.” Sam smiled, loitering deliberately in the doorway.

“You’re right, I don’t.” I smiled at her. No trifecta of doom. “Be back soon?”

“In a jiffy. Promise.” Sam blew me a kiss. “Love you!”

“Love you too.” I blew her a kiss back. She caught it with one hand, pressed it to her own mouth, smiled widely and let the door swing shut behind her.

“So… Sam-an-tha Jennings.” Cordy leaned back in her chair and raised an eyebrow at me. “Spill the beans, Wes. What’s her story?”

“Forcibly recruited by Wolfram and Hart, in exchange for them saving her fellow archaeologists from death. She’d been working for them a couple of years as a researcher and deputy head of this department - in a different branch - before we took over.” I paused, thinking. “She’s a genius when it comes to languages. And lore. Tea-brewing. Not much she’s bad at.” A smile curled my face at the memory of the self-evaluation file Sam had given me on my first day. “Except she thinks she talks too much.”

“You know that’s not what I was asking.” Cordy looked at me meaningfully, setting down her cup.

I sighed and abandoned any pretence of work, leaning back in my chair. “We worked together. Side-by-side. All day. Practically every day. For weeks. I came to see her as more than just a colleague, as a very close friend.” I paused for thought, trying to identify the exact moment. “I came to realise just how much she meant to me. Which was more than I could have ever imagined. Sam is… she’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, unfailingly kind, a pleasure to be around and impossibly attractive.”

“And by some incredible fluke,” I shook my head and smiled at Cordelia. “She had feelings that went beyond friendship for me, too. We danced around it for a little while… until one day she kissed me. And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“And the evil thing doesn’t bother you?” Cordy raised an eyebrow and smirked.

I laughed. “Sam’s not evil. I promise you, she is _nothing_ like Lilah. Read a dozen times by Lorne, and I’ve spent so much time with her that, well… nobody could share what we’ve shared and hide any part of themselves from each other.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Cordy grinned. I chucked my pen at her and she ducked it, smirking. “Uncle, uncle! Seriously though, what about…”

She checked over her shoulder, then almost whispered. “Fred?”

“What about her?” I shrugged and smiled, sadly. “We’re the best of friends. She wants nothing more, she’s been clear about that. Granted, I wish we could see more of each other, but… I’ve put aside my feelings for her.”

“So, you _do_ love Sam?” Cordy questioned.

“Yes.” I answered immediately, feeling a hot flush of anger pass through me. “Cordelia I… do you have something to say?”

“Nope. Just trying to figure out the lay of the land. Sorry.” Cordy held up both hands and smiled placatingly. I nodded and relaxed somewhat. “I can’t lie to you… Sam _seems_ perfect.”

“She is.” I smiled. “Completely.” Cordy nodded thoughtfully. 

“I have actually been meaning to talk to you about Fred.” I interlaced my fingers on the desk, feeling a frown come over my face. “I’m worried about her.”

Cordy’s face became serious. “Go on.”

“She’s been… different for the past few weeks. Perhaps even a little longer.” I grimaced. “Distant from all of us. Less lively and vivacious. Burying herself in work, barely leaving the office. I almost never see her smiling, or making jokes, or babbling contentedly. She even seems to have lost some of her appetite. She just seems…”

I frowned. “Listless. Perhaps even despondent.”

Cordy looked at me, deep sorrow in her expression. “Have you… talked to her about it?”

“No, I couldn’t.” I sighed. “She’d just brush me off, like she always does when I try to make her feel better or do anything. I’ve been trying my best, inviting her on evenings out, to meals, encouraging her to work less… none of it worked. I have no idea how to help her.”

“Who else would be on these outings you invited her on?” 

“Lorne, almost always. Often Charles. Spike has a standing invitation.” Cordy frowned, looking confused, and I realised I’d forgotten someone. “Oh, and Sam, of course.”

“You and Sam do everything together, huh?” Cordy questioned. I nodded. Cordelia sighed. “Looking back… can you identify roughly when Fred’s demeanour changed? Any significant events occurring roundabout that time that might have harmed her mood?”

I frowned, thinking. Looking back, the earliest signs had been clear when I’d come back to work after the mess with the cyborgs, which had happened right after… “Oh, God.” I groaned, resting my head in my hands. “Spike.”

“What?!” Cordy sounded confused. “Spike, you… what about Spike?”

“It happened right after he became corporeal again.” I growled, sitting up. “When he and Fred began seeing each other.”

Cordelia blinked. “Fred and Spike are seeing each other?”

“Yes, I gather it’s quite serious.” I was surprised Cordy hadn’t picked up on it, she was normally quite perceptive about these things. “That’s why I made clear to Fred that Spike could come with her on the outings I invited her to, to make sure she’d be comfortable.”

“Are you sure-”

“I can’t imagine what it is.” I frowned. “Could they be fighting? Or maybe she’s just exhausted at work from spending so much time with him outside of it, or perhaps from all the late nights, I gather vampire stamina is quite-”

“I’ll suss out the situation with Fred.” Cordy interrupted me. “Figure out the lay of the land.”

“Thank you.” I smiled gratefully. “I knew you’d be able to help.”

“Seriously, though. Before I go in…” Cordy looked at me pleadingly. “Would you try talking to her?”

“It won’t work.” I shook my head firmly. Cordy hadn’t been around to see how disastrous my attempts at reconciling with Fred had been during our first weeks at Wolfram and Hart. If she had, she’d know that sending _me_ in to try and lift her spirits by talking to her about her feelings - a topic which Fred had always been reluctant to discuss - would be a disaster on the scale of Gallipoli. “Trust me.”

“Alright.” Cordy stood up and brushed herself off. “You let me know if you and Sam find any sign of the symbols I sketched for you?”

“Will do.” I nodded. “We’ll find them soon, I’m sure. Sam’s a machine when it comes to these things.”

“I don’t doubt she is.”

Cordy turned to face the door just as Sam returned, balancing a pile of books in one hand and clutching a sheaf of papers in the others. “Hey, Cordelia!” The tiniest frown crossed Sam’s face. “Are you leaving?”

“Afraid so.” Cordy smiled apologetically. “Gotta keep doing the rounds.”

“Oh. Okay!” Sam’s smile returned. “We’ll give you a call if we find those symbols.”

“I expect nothing less.” Cordy began to leave, then rotated her head and smiled at Sam. “You take _good care_ of Wesley.” Cordy turned away again, and left.

“I don’t need taking care of.” I grumbled.

“But you weren’t quite brave enough to say that in front of her, I see?” Sam grinned, sitting down in her chair. I drank my tea silently. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by strong women?”

I laughed. “No. Not at all.” I smiled, looking deep into Sam’s beguiling green eyes, leaning in until our noses touched and bringing up one hand to stroke her cheek gently. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“As promised earlier, one coffee.” I passed the disposable cup to Cordy and sat down beside her.

“Thanks.” Cordy took a swig, glancing around admiringly. “Fred, I _love_ your office. And your lab.”

“Aww, thanks. I tried to make the place feel homely.” I smiled at my old Dixie Chicks poster, the commemorative plate (a reminder _never_ to get invested in an Ebay auction), and Feigenbaum, who was perched happily by the window. I’d wanted to give him a view. “Although it’s not my lab, it’s the company’s.”

“_That,”_ Cordy smiled. “Is the most sensible thing I’ve heard anyone say all day. A very important distinction.” It was great to have Cordelia back. I’d missed her a lot. And she’d keep all of us on the straight and narrow for good.

“Fred,” Cordy put down her coffee and looked at me intensely. I swallowed: this couldn’t be good. “I don’t have a lot of time. Pretty soon, Wesley is gonna dial that phone and tell me he found the symbols from my vision, and then things are gonna get messy.”

“How do you know-”

“Vision girl.” Cordy smiled confidently. “Remember? And because I don’t have a lot of time, I am gonna get right to the point.”

“About?” I feigned innocence, dreading what she was going to say. Because Cordy had always been able to read all of us like open books, and there was no way she hadn’t sussed out what was going on straight away. I think she’d managed it while we were all in Angel’s office, before she’d even seen Sam.

“I can see that you’re hurting.” Cordy reached out to squeeze my hand.

“I’m not!” I protested, pulling my hand away. “Cordy, I’m great, I’m just overworked and-”

“Heartbroken.” Cordy interrupted gently. “Because of Wesley.”

Why had I even tried? I nodded helplessly. “Yeah.”

“He can see you’re hurting too, Fred.” Cordy said softly. “He just doesn’t know why. He’s not sure what’s bothering you.”

“That’s good.” I forced a smile. “It’s good that he doesn’t know, because if he knew then-”

“Then the two of you would get to live happily ever after?” Cordy said incredulously.

“No, we wouldn’t.” I shook my head firmly. “I… I had my chance. Dozens of them. I screwed up. I lost him. He doesn’t… he doesn’t feel that way about me, not anymore.”

“Yes, he does.” Cordy sighed. “God, I forgot how frustrating it is when people don’t just _talk_ to each other about their feelings.”

“He doesn’t.” I shook my head again, hoping it would make my point clear to her. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have… I mean…”

“Wesley thinks you don’t care about him that way.” Cordy said slowly. “If he knew how you felt-”

“Then things would be even worse!” I stood up to get away from her, fighting the urge to tear my hair out in frustration. Why couldn’t anyone see that him knowing would make things so much worse? “I… he wouldn’t want to spend any time with me at all. Ever. Not if he knew, and it would just make him unhappy, and hurt his relationship with Sam and… I won’t do that to him, he’s happy, Lorne saw that he was happier than he’d ever been, I can’t hurt him again because… I love him, I _won’t_ hurt him and… and he loves Sam. Of course he does, how couldn’t he?”

“Fred-”

“She’s smart, she’s funny, sweet, kind, and obviously she’s so beautiful…” I closed my eyes and drew a shuddering breath, my voice becoming quiet and halting. “And they’re perfect for each other.”

“She’s certainly Wesley’s type.” Cordelia said cautiously, standing up beside me and laying a hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, swallowing. “She’s… Sam is-”

“She’s you.” Cordy interrupted me, passionate eyes boring into mine.

I blinked. What was that supposed to mean? “Huh?”

“Fred, Sam is _you._” Cordy raised an eyebrow, as if daring me to disagree. “She’s you, but instead of a physicist she’s a mystical expert.”

“Cordy, that’s… that’s ridiculous.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Me and Sam, we’re… we’re nothing-”

“Beautiful. Texan. The smartest person in any given room.” Cordy began counting on her fingers. “Unfalteringly kind. Sweet. Kind of shy at times. Prone to babbling. Heart of purest gold. Ringing any frickin’ bells? Who am I talking about?”

“I…” I hesitated. I guess we did share _some_ qualities. But that didn’t mean anything! “Where are you going with this, Cordy?”

“Fred, I know Wesley.” Cordy smiled. “And trust me, he _never _stopped caring about you. But he thought _you_ did. So when somebody who’s so _almost_ perfect comes along, of course he’s going to fall for her eventually. But Sam isn’t you.”

Cordy frowned slightly. “Okay, now I’m confusing myself. But you get my point. You are a green-eyed monster, Fred. If you feel this way about Wesley, you need to tell him.”

“But…” None of what she’d said changed anything. Even if… by some ridiculous quirk of fate, part of Wesley cared about me when he had _Sam_, he was still happy. Lorne had told me as much. ‘Happier than he’d ever seen him’, that’s what Lorne had seen in his future. Right before he and Sam had… “They’re so happy. Wesley deserves to be happy, I never made him happy, and she’s so nice… if you knew her you’d understand, I couldn’t bear to-”

“She’s part of Wolfram and Hart.” Cordy looked at me pleadingly. “She’s evil. No matter what act she puts on.”

“No she isn’t!” I protested. Cordy was acting just like I’d been! Blinded by my own feelings, even though I was oblivious to them, convincing myself Sam was easier because it was so much easier to hate her blindly than it was to accept she was a wonderful human being who deserved every happiness, who deserved to be with the man she loved, that she adored, that she deserved to be with Wesley. “She’s really lovely. In every way. I tried hating her, Cordy, I really did and I _couldn’t_. Not really. I’m jealous of her which is ridiculous because I… I never had Wesley, it’s not like she took him away, it’s completely irrational and I feel guilty for it. _Everyone_ else loves her Cordy, how could they not, when she’s so lovely, thoughtful, considerate, and makes Wesley so so happy?”

“Wolfram and Hart, in agreement on a decision. How very propitious.” Cordy snorted. It wasn’t so weird that the staff liked her. Granted, there were factions in the staff who usually opposed each other, but what possible reason could anyone concoct to dislike Sam? It wasn’t strange that they were all united in liking her.

Cordy tapped her fingers on my shoulder gently, scrutinising me for a few seconds. Then she shrugged languidly. “Seems a hell of a coincidence.”

“What is?” I frowned: what was Cordy talking about?

“One day, you all sign a deal. You change the game. Agree to come work for Wolfram and Hart.” Cordy snapped her fingers. “_Bam_. Next day. Less than an hour in to his new job, and Wesley just so happens to find someone who’s almost identical to the woman he desperately loves in pretty much every positive quality, who’s an expert in the same stuff as him, brews the best damn tea I’ve ever tasted, and happens to be head over heels for him?” Cordy rested one hand on her hip and raised both eyebrows looking at me meaningfully.

I blinked. Then I frowned. I mean… I guess it did seem kind of like a coincidence but… but you could meet the perfect person at any time! First day in a new job, coffee shop, in front of a gathering of Pylean rebels escorted by an ensouled vampire… but…

“Are you saying she’s a spy?” I frowned at her. “Cordy, I… Lorne reads her all the time. And Wesley’s a _brilliant_ lie detector, he sniffs out deception… there’s no way any spy could fool them. Sam can’t be a spy.” That was ridiculous. It went against all the evidence, the advice of everyone I knew, and Occam’s razor.

I’d never wanted to believe anything so desperately.

“I’m just saying it’s a weird coincidence. I could also say that a genius mystical expert in charge of the department for keeping tabs on Wolfram and Hart’s enemies would be able to work some mojo to block Lorne’s reading. And that anyone sent by Wolfram and Hart to infiltrate our team would be a brilliant deceiver, well versed in good ways to offset suspicion… and keep Wesley off-balance, not even thinking about looking for it.” Cordy paused. “And, while I’m hypothesising, I’m gonna go for broke and say there’s no better cover for a spy than to be perfectly adorable in every way… and no better way to earn everyone’s trust than by earning the undying loyalty of the team’s least trusting member.”

“Cordy, I…” I didn’t know what to say. I was having trouble processing. “You’re making a lot of assumptions. A ton of speculations, and… isn’t the simplest answer probably the correct one? That Sam’s genuine?”

“When have the Senior Partners _ever_ kept things simple?” Cordy raised an eyebrow. She had a point. “The Forces of Darkness love their convoluted master plans. And something like this? emotional manipulation of the highest order? Totally their style.”

I frowned. It was _such_ an attractive idea. If I believed it then… no, I couldn’t let myself hope, I couldn’t. “Cordy… this idea… it’s just so-”

“Hey!” Cordy squeezed my shoulder and winked, tapping one side of her head and shrugging helplessly. “Vision Girl, remember? Would I really steer you wrong?”

“No. But-” The phone rang. It was probably something important. Something to do with Angel’s tattooed adversary. This conversation could wait. “I should probably-”

Cordy caught my hand inches from the phone, eyes pleading again. “Before you pick up. I am telling you that you’d better watch out. And you should do some digging on Miss Perfect up there, but something’s _seriously_ off about her, for all the reasons I’ve given. Check her backstory. Emphasis on _story._”

“Cordy,” I frowned. “I’m not sure that… I need to think. I need to-”

_“Do. Not. Think.”_ Cordy interrupted me. “Too much thinking got you into this mess. _Feel._ Use your intuition. What do you _feel_ about Samantha Jennings?”

I hesitated. All the logic, all the evidence, everything I knew went against this. And yet… “There’s something wrong.” I said quietly. “I don’t know what.”

“Attagirl. Now you do your thing.” Cordy smiled broadly. “And find out what.”

“Alright.” I nodded. Cordy wouldn’t steer me wrong. Cordy was Vision Girl. “We can-”

“Get Wesley back.” Cordy said it like an instruction and I felt myself colour. Then she smiled the warmest, most encouraging smile I’d ever seen. “You’re welcome.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Umm, excuse me?” I glanced away from Angel’s interrogation of Eve to see Sam edging around the partially open door into Angel’s office. 

“Sam,” I smiled apologetically. “Sorry, this really isn’t a good-”

“We just had a Code Seven.” Sam edged further into the room, biting her lip nervously. “I… thought you’d want to know.”

I glanced at everyone else: everyone else looked as confused as I did. 

“What’s a Code Seven?” Fred’s eyes were dark and intense, fixed on Sam.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sam frowned, then her eyes widened and she pushed the door fully open, to reveal…

An empty lobby. The lobby was never empty. Especially not at this time. “Code seven means evacuate the building?” Angel demanded, straightening up. “But… but it’s _my_ building.”

“Almost.” Sam fidgeted with a folder in her hands. “Less evacuate the building, more… evacuate the building and also vacate the area surrounding the building.”

“How big an area?” I asked, standing up.

“Is there a bomb?” Fred demanded, joining me.

“As far as possible.” Sam swallowed. “And I don’t know. I just know what we’re meant to do when the code goes out.”

“What the hell’s going on, Eve?” Cordy demanded, turning a stony glare.

“I…” Eve’s gaze darted wildly between us, as if looking for any reprieve. She wouldn’t find it. Her eyes settled on Sam last. I couldn’t resist the urge to smile with pride: she’d walked over the door to stand firmly beside me, glare defiant, eyes unwavering. She might work for Wolfram and Hart, but she was with us. Every step of the way. Eve wasn’t finding any help there. I knew I could trust Sam, but… to see her so instantly, so instinctively - without thinking - move to stand by me, in the face of unknown danger? It meant the world to me. “I’m not telling you anything!”

“Okay, this is getting us nowhere.” Cordy turned to Angel. “Angel, torture her.”

“I… I can’t just…” Angel looked at Cordy disbelievingly. “Torture her.”

“He’s right.” Sam nodded firmly. “If we sink to their level-”

Then Harmony attacked Eve.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Woodbury Lichen?” Wesley read off a scroll as he deposited a handful of something into a bowl already near overflowing with ritual ingredients.

“Done two minutes ago.” Sam smirked playfully and elbowed him as she passed him. “You get the danbeetle skeleton?”

“Three minutes ago.” Wesley’s answering smirk was as wide as hers.

I kept one eye on the door, just in case Lindsey had any accomplices. Or Eve mounted an escape attempt from Angel’s office. My other eye was on Sam. I didn’t _know_ if Cordy was right but… Cordy was pretty much always right about people. In my experience. Which raised a niggling question:

Why hadn’t Cordy talked to Wesley about her suspicions regarding Sam?

“Where’s Charles?” Sam turned to the door and frowned slightly. “He and Lorne should have been back with the blood sample by now.”

“They’re probably having some trouble with Fred’s handwriting.” Wesley winked at me. “Loopy handwriting is quite hard to read on those sample test tube labels.” Sam giggled.

“As you know, Wes, those labels are printed.” I forced an exasperated smile. Couldn’t let on what I was thinking. For entirely different reasons to before. “And considering what your handwriting is like… well, you know what they say about people who live in glass houses?”

“That we shouldn’t throw stones.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “Yes, fair point.”

“Have you ever thrown a stone in your life?” Sam squeezed his arm casually and the subtle intimacy of the gesture sent a spike into my chest. It was bad enough if she was genuine, but…

If Cordy was right about Sam… if she’d manipulated Wesley, or planned to hurt him… she was going to pay. In blood. _Nobody_ got to hurt Wesley. Nobody.

“I’ve skipped stones on lakes.” Wesley frowned. “Not very successfully, but that doesn’t change the fact that I threw them.”

Sam laughed. She had such a pretty laugh. Such a pretty everything. “I meant in anger! Like, at another person, or a building. Fred, back me up on this! Wes is a total sweetheart, he wouldn’t have done something like that.” In fact, she didn’t have a single negative quality, not one offputting habit, one undesirable facet of her being. How peculiar.

“Do demons count?” I raised an eyebrow. “Because if they do, I reckon he’s done his fair share of stone-throwing.” Wesley rolled his eyes and opened his mouth - doubtless to offer a scathing reply - when the office doors burst open, Gunn and Lorne marching in clutching some vials.

“Arterial blood of a demon.” Charles declared triumphantly, setting the vials down on the desk.

“And not a scratch on me.” Lorne shuddered. “Thanks for the save, Sammy. I owe you a drink.”

“No sweat, Lorne.” Sam tilted her head and smiled mischievously. “I’ll take a nice bottle of whiskey.”

“You drink whiskey?” Lorne raised both eyebrows.

“Not very successfully.” Sam turned her head to smile at Wesley. “But someone I know is quite partial to the delicacy…”

“Not as partial as I am to certain other delicacies.” Wesley dipped down to plant a swift kiss on her lips. At least, I think that’s what he meant to do, before Sam shifted her hand to behind his head and held him there for a decidedly-not-swift kiss.

“Jeez, get a room, you two.” Charles rolled his eyes and grinned.

“This _is_ our room.” Wesley gestured to the room triumphantly with his free hand (Sam having snagged the other).

Charles frowned. “But my office is right next door to here. Why didn’t I ever think about that?” He paled slightly. “How am I ever gonna _stop_ thinking about that now?”

I cleared my throat. “Spell?”

“Right, on it.” Wesley offered the scroll to Sam. I blinked: surely he wasn’t…

“Wes, I… I can’t…” Sam stammered. “I mean, you’re the better…”

“I’m really not.” Wesley pressed the scroll into her hands. “You know more about magic than me.You’re more experienced than me. And this is an advanced spell. There’s nobody in the world I trust to do this more than you.” He squeezed her hand tenderly, then let go and stepped back. “You can do this.”

Sam squared her jaw and nodded.

I’d be the first to admit that Sam looked very cute. Her hairstyles - verging from curly hair, to brushed straight, to sloppy ponytails - her clothing, her mannerisms… very much adorable. 

But bathed in firelight, in a darkened room? Eyes fixed with unyielding focus on the scroll before her? One hand extended over the flames, releasing ground-up ingredients into it as she paced counter-clockwise around it? Her every word carrying the weight of an avalanche, power crackling in the air around her, and the flames dancing according to her will reflected in the pools of her emerald eyes.

Sam didn’t look cute. She looked formidable.

“Fabula mundi, sanguis incesti, vincula solve, invisa revela.” Sam breathed out deeply with the last word, the flames roared louder and brighter for a second, her eyes closing for an instant. “I can feel it working.” She smiled in the satisfied way a cat might smile at a mouse caught in its paws. Then her eyes opened and we made eye contact. Her eyes looked like the purest emeralds I’d ever seen, a roaring fire trapped within them.

Her smile didn’t waver.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“To a beautiful piece of spell-work.” I tapped my glass against Sam’s and smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Performed by an even more beautiful woman.”

“Thank you.” Sam beamed back at me, free hand moving up to rub the spot on her cheek I just kissed. “For the compliment… and for believing I could do it.”

“I believe you’re capable of a great many things. Intricate spell-work. Wrangling a free bottle of whiskey out of Lorne…” I nodded to the bottle I’d poured my current drink from, currently resting on the bar between us, then whispered in her ear. “The art of seduction…”

Sam flushed slightly. “That is… hardly appropriate.”

“And yet so very true.” I didn’t move away. “You have bewitched me.”

Sam let out a sigh. It sounded like a very happy sigh. She kissed my cheek, and I kissed hers before I returned to an upright position.

“This is perfect.” Sam smiled broadly, sipping her cocktail, twirling some strands of hair around her finger idly. “We solved the puzzle. Beat the bad guy. And now we’re all out for drinks! All your friends are here.”

“And Harmony.” I added. Sam giggled and swatted me gently. I let my eyes wander across the room: Lorne, Harmony, and Gunn were gathered at a table with a staggering amount of alcohol, chatting in a lively manner and - if the number of empty glasses and bottles I could already see was any indication - well on their way to drinking themselves under the table. Fred and Spike were sitting together at the other end of the bar from us. I looked away from them quickly: the last thing I wanted to do was intrude on their privacy. And of course, Angel and Cordelia were still at Wolfram and Hart, ostensibly on their way here.

I rather thought they might be taking advantage of some privacy themselves. They deserved that.

“And we, get some space to ourselves.” I smiled, interlacing my finger’s with Sam’s. “Close enough to feel the company of friends…”

“But not so close as to face judgemental looks, jokes in poor taste, and feel obliged to maintain some semblance of decency?” Sam took advantage of our newly joined fingers to raise my hand to her lips and press a kiss there. I felt a very pleasant tingling run through that half of my body.

“Precisely.” I leaned forwards and we kissed at length. “Although I should warn you, Cordelia is quite the expert in that department.”

“Right. Cordelia.” Sam nodded, chewing on her lower lip slightly, looking intently at the woodgrain of the bar. “You must be so happy to see her again…”

“Indescribably.” I frowned, shifting my free hand under Sam’s chin to tilt her head up until we made eye contact. She looked almost nervous. “But not as eager as I am to know what’s bothering you.”

“It’s silly.” Sam mumbled.

“I love silly.” I rested my forehead on hers. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Sam’s smile was genuine again.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” I murmured. 

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Sam sighed. I waited. “It’s… just that… well. You and Cordy are such good friends and… she’s a massive part of your life…”

“Sam,” I fought the urge to laugh. “Please don’t tell me that you, of all people, are feeling insecure.”

“No, it’s not that!” Sam flicked my nose and pouted. “You’re making me sound silly.”

“You did say that it was-” 

Sam’s hand came up from below and pushed my mouth shut. “Not another word.” Sam’s eyes gleamed playfully. “Not _one_ word. I don’t care what I said. Got that?”

“Mmmm ghrm.” I said.

“Good.” Sam removed her hand and smiled tentatively. “It’s not that I… that I don’t trust you, I swear I do, more than anyone. I mean, if I was going to worry about Cordelia for the reasons you thought, I’d be having hourly panic attacks about Fred, and I’m not, so…”

Sam took a deep breath, then made eye contact. “She’s one of your oldest, dearest friends.”

“And?” I raised an eyebrow, unsure what Sam was getting at.

“And she hates me.” Sam slumped in her chair. I blinked. What? “I tried _so hard_ to make a good impression, I swear, I… I tried to do everything right and I never… but she hates me.”

“Cordelia doesn’t hate you.” I frowned. “Sam, why do you think that?”

“I… it’s just…” Sam frowned, swallowing. “The way she looked at me, like I was… some kind of… I don’t know.”

“You have to remember, all that Cordelia knew about you was that you worked for Wolfram and Hart.” I reminded Sam. “She doesn’t exactly have the best relationship with that unhallowed institution.”

“I know, but I just…” Sam sighed. “I feel like… like she thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

I burst out laughing. “I guarantee you, Cordelia is not a raving lunatic, and therefore cannotpossibly believe that.” Sam looked unconvinced.

“Sam,” I smiled encouragingly and rubbed my nose against hers gently. “I assure you, Cordelia doesn’t hate you. She just… she’s just trying to get the lay of the land. She asked me about you.”

“What did you say?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “What kind of questions was she asking?”

“The usual. How did you meet, were you evil…” I paused for a second. “She said she thought you were perfect.”

Sam brightened noticeably, smiling shyly. “Really?”

“Really.” I kissed her. “And she’s right.”

“Thank you, Wesley.” Sam looked at me affectionately and I returned the favour.

“You have nothing to worry about from Cordy.” I paused and smiled teasingly. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about Fred.”  
“What?” Sam stiffened, looking like a rabbit in the headlights. Except more anxious. “What about Fred?”

“Your nine o’ clock.” I saw Sam’s eyes flick over to look at Fred and Spike. Fred’s chin was propped on one hand, the tiniest thoughtful frown on her face, one brown curl out of place, eyes lingering on Sam. “She’s giving you the eye.”

“She’s been looking at me funny the last couple of hours.” Sam chewed her lip. “Has she been interrogating you too?”

“Sam, you’re overthinking this.” I grinned. “This is a _bar_.”

Sam looked confused. “…So?”

“So maybe…” I smiled, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “The reason Fred is eyeing you up is that she wants to buy you a drink.”

Sam flushed pink. “Oh, but I mean, you’re right here, and Spike’s right there, and she’s not… well, I’m-”

“I think I should be feeling jealous.” I smirked. “Although I wouldn’t entirely blame you for walking over there to take her up on it. She is _far_ prettier than me…”

“Nobody’s prettier than you.” Sam smiled up at me, and drew me into a gentle, thorough kiss.

“Wesley?” Sam sat back in her seat and started fidgeting. “I… I’ve been thinking.”

“Alright.” I sat back in my own chair and listened attentively. “What about?”

“It’s just.” Sam smiled ever so slightly. “We work together all day, every day.”

“Yes.” I nodded warily.

“We also travel to work together. And eat meals together, we spend our time off together, and we stay together every night…” Sam swallowed.

I felt a momentary pang pass through me. “You want to see less of me.” I said wearily. “I’m monopolising your time, and you want-”

“_No!”_ Sam interrupted me, shaking her head. I frowned. “I’m saying that, considering all that… doesn’t it seem kind of silly to… to be paying rent for two apartments?”

I smiled broadly. “When you put it like that, it _really_ does.”

“I’m glad you think so too.” Sam beamed.

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Sam?” I put my arm around her shoulders, scooting my chair closer to her.

“I was more thinking that _I_ would move in with _you._” Sam leaned into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. “Considering that my apartment is smaller, messier, cluttered, lacks space, and did I mention it was tiny?”

“I rather like your apartment.” I smiled fondly. “It has a great deal of charm. It’s so cosy.”

“And we’ll never be able to be more than nine feet apart if we move in there!” Sam pointed out.

“I really don’t see a negative.” I smiled. “If we moved into my apartment, I might have to walk twice that distance to do this…” I kissed her deeply.

“Wesley,” Sam smiled and flicked my nose gently. “Please, be serious.”

“I suppose it does make more sense to move in to my apartment.” I sighed. “But you owe me one.”

“Fine.” Sam hugged me. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I kissed the top of her head and squeezed her closer to me.

“Also, the lease on my apartment runs out in two days, so we’re going to have lots of fun tomorrow!”

“Oh, goody.” I muttered, imagining the crates of books I was going to be carrying out of Sam’s apartment tomorrow. Sam laughed and kissed me with rekindled ferocity.

“Bright side.” Sam paused the kiss for a moment, cheeks flushing ever so slightly as she spoke. “We’ll need to… y’know… say a proper goodbye to the old place. All those lovely, comfy bits of furniture…”

“I _love_ the way you think.” I smiled, and pulled her back into a kiss.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I looked between Sam and Wesley thoughtfully. Usually, looking at them would make me feel sick to my stomach. But today… after what Cordy had told me, it made me feel determined. To get to the bottom of whatever Cordy had sussed out. Find out the truth, in time to help Wesley (because whatever was bad that was coming, it _had_ to be to do with Wesley, with Sam involved).

“Mind if I join you?” Spike lingered by my barstool, one eyebrow raised.

“Free country.” I smiled at him, keeping watch on Sam from the corner of my eye. 

“Ta.” Spike sat down, lounging next to me.

“So, how does it feel to not have a destiny?” I teased.

“It’s a blessed relief.” Spike shot me an impish grin. “Angel’s welcome to that pile of rubbish.”

“Glad to hear it.” I raised my glass. “To free will?”  
“To free will.” Spike grinned and we clinked glasses, then he downed his. I restrained myself to a sip of mine. “You’re going light today.” Spike noted.

“I’ve got important work to do.” I shrugged. “Got to keep a clear head.”

“Anything I can help with?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Captan Desperately-looking-for-a-purpose-in-unlife, reporting for duty.”

“Unfortunately, the position of my assistant is already filled.” I shrugged. “Well, partner.”

“And who has the honour?” Spike grinned. “I’ll fight ‘em for it.”

“It’s Cordelia.” I smiled sweetly.

Spike thought for a second. “Alright, I’m out.”

“That’s probably best.” I smiled, flagging down another beer for Spike.

“So what’s this project you’ve got?” Spike nodded gratefully as his drink arrived and he started sipping.

Sam leaned in to whisper in Wesley’s ear (or be whispered to) then glanced over at me. Just for a second. Almost a fleeting glance: but one that knew what it was looking for. I smiled politely and raised my glass in response. No sense giving the game away, now, was there? I had to act towards Sam as I had been recently. Which was to say, respectfully.

“One of Cordy’s ideas.” I said vaguely. “Girl stuff.” I’d meet with Cordy tomorrow to discuss a strategy. The first thing to do was dig a little deeper into Sam’s backstory. If there was something off about her, then given her impressive acting and mystical skills, a direct confrontation was not the way to learn anything. I had to find a loose thread to pull on. A needle on a haystack. I was _very_ good at those.

“Say no more.” Spike frowned. “Fred… remember how… last time we were here, you offered me a place to crash?”

“Sure.” I smiled. “Open offer. What happened to your old place?”

“It was an apartment Lindsey gave me.” Spike paused. “Not exactly keen on it anymore.”

“I have a very comfy sofa.” I smiled. “Comforter, cushions, spare blankets…” On the far side of the bar, Sam had dragged Wesley into a very heated kiss. Ordinarily, I’d have chalked it up to their chemistry. But right after she’d shot me a sideways glance? It was enough to make me think she wanted me to avert my gaze.

“You are a _godsend_.” Spike pounded the counter triumphantly. “Fred, you beautiful, perfect woman.”

“Thanks.” I grinned at the compliment, then yawned. I could use a good night’s sleep before I started the good work. “I think I’m gonna turn in.”

“I’ll walk you home.” Spike nodded.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting home on my own.” I rolled my eyes. _Men!_

“Oh, I’m well aware. I could just use the company.” Spike hesitated as he stood. “I also don’t know where your place is. And I need you to invite me in before you sleep.”

“Fine, if you must.” I grinned.

“I must.” Spike bowed low, then winced and gasped, clutching his chest.

“Are you alright?” I frowned, stepping up to him and reflexively running my hand over his ribs quickly to check for breaks. Nothing.

“Just a bit bruised.” Spike shrugged. “Zombies can really kick.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I paused. “Cab or walk?”

“Let’s get a cab.” Spike shrugged. “Can’t go wrong with quick and easy.”

“You’re right.” I glanced at Sam one last time as I left, currently lip-locked with Wesley . “Time is of the essence.”


	9. Old Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred investigates Samantha.

**Fred**

I took a moment to stand still and breathe in, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. The sunlight was warm on my face, the breeze whispering over my skin kept me pleasantly cool despite the heat, and the smell… earthy and comforting. 

It felt like home. It was _good_ to be back in Texas. Something about here… it made me feel safe. Nothing bad had ever happened to me here. Nothing _really_ bad at least. 

I opened my eyes and shut the car door behind me, locking it and turning my gaze to the building in front of me. I checked the name scribbled in my notebook: this was the place. Redtree Orphanage. Three stories. Peeling paint. A large back garden. Still school hours, so no kids about. I flipped open my wallet, double checked I had what I needed, and swallowed. This would be fine. This was fine. I was just doing some quick checks, following up on what Cordy had told me, the chances I found anything were pretty low. But if I did… that meant I was probably poking into the backstory of a Wolfram and Hart spy. Which was probably very risky. Still, had to be done. I took a deep breath, marched up to the door and opened it. 

Inside was a decrepit lobby. A couple of chairs around the edges of the room, a desk with somebody sitting behind it doing paperwork… a waiting area, presumably. I walked up to the desk and smiled politely. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” The man behind the desk smiled. “How can I help you?”

“I need to talk to the head of the orphanage.” I opened my notebook. “Mrs Ingram? Is she in?”

He checked something out of my sight. “You don’t have an appointment.”

“This is urgent, I’m afraid.” I informed him. “Is she in?”

“Let me see. Just wait there.” I nodded.

He picked up her desk phone and called. “Hello? Dorothy, there’s someone here to see you. She says it’s urgent. Alright.” He put down the phone. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Great, thanks.” I looked around the room again, eyes lingering on the ancient furniture - which looked set to turn to dust if I so much as thought about sitting on it - and fading wallpaper. “This place looks kind of like it’s seen better days.”

“It ain’t.” The man smiled ruefully. 

“Oh.” Not just a result of age then. This place had always been… this.

Dorothy Ingram - old, round, and grandmotherly as she’d looked in the newspaper articles I’d read - bustled into the room, polite smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Mrs Ingram.” I smiled, extending my hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too.” She glanced me up and down as she shook my hand. “Ms…?”

“Bark.” I let go of her hand. “Joan Bark.”

“Well, Ms Bark, how may I help you?” Dorothy smiled welcomingly.

“May we speak in private?” I asked.

“Of course, this way.”

Her office was marginally nicer than the room I’d been in. The desk was marked with decades’ worth of scrapes and scratches, but covered in pictures and ornaments. The walls were likewise adorned with a series of landscape photos: pictures of kids, lined up and (mostly) smiling. I sat down and settled myself in a chair. “Ms Ingram,” I flipped open my wallet to reveal my new badge. “I’m Agent Bark, Federal Bureau of Investigations.”

Dorothy’s face rapidly shifted to one of alarm. “Oh, goodness. Is… is everything alright? Has one of the children-”

“Everything’s fine, Mrs Ingram, please don’t worry.” I put away the fake badge, courtesy of Wolfram and Hart. “I just need to ask you a couple of questions about one of the children who used to be here.”

Dorothy sighed, looking relieved, but a thousand times wearier. “Which of them did something so bad I have an FBI agent looking round my orphanage?”

“It’s nothing like that.” I smiled reassuringly. “We just need some information in connection to a case we’re working on.”

“Do you have a warrant?” Dorothy asked me, stare flinty.

“Yes, I do. Here.” I unfolded a fake warrant (also courtesy of Wolfram and Hart) and handed it over. Dorothy scrutinised it for a few seconds then nodded and passed it back.

“Sorry. I have to be careful.”

“Of course.” I nodded. “I’m not going to turn this place upside down or nothing. I just want to ask you a couple of questions and check your records.”

“Alright. So, who do you need to know about?”

“She was here quite a long time ago,” But _just_ long enough ago that Dorothy had still been here, thankfully. “Samantha Jennings?”

Dorothy blinked. She looked completely thrown. “Samantha Jennings?”

“Yes.” I fought to contain the surge of adrenaline I felt at the look of utter confusion on her face. “Our records say she used to live here, was that not the case?”

“Oh, no. No she was definitely here.” Dorothy sighed. “Poor thing. Never any luck, almost from the day she was born. I’m just… well, let’s just say if you asked me who I _least_ expected to have an FBI agent poking around asking about, it would be Sam.”

“Not a troublemaker, then?” I questioned.

“Oh, Lord, no.” Dorothy shook her head. “Sweetest girl I ever met. I caught her sneaking a spider out of the orphanage wrapped up in some tissue once, because she didn’t have the heart to step on it.”

“Do you have her file?” I asked, smiling apologetically. “We’re concerned the central records we have aren’t complete.” Or rather, that they’d been tampered with.

“Sure. I’ll just need to fetch it from the basement. I’ll just be a minute. Help yourself to some water while you wait.”

I examined the photos arranged around her desk: contrary to the ones on the walls, these weren’t large groups of kids. Just one - or at most two - kids smiling at the camera. Personal favourites, I guessed. One looked familiar. A blond girl, who couldn’t have been more than eleven, hair in pigtails, was curled up under a tree dappled in sunlight, nose half-buried in a book, smiling shyly at the camera. It was unmistakably Sam.

Or so I would have said a week ago.

“Here you go.” Dorothy bustled back into the room, handing me a cream folder. I smiled gratefully and sat back down, opening it. She looked between me and the photo as she sat down in her place. “Yes, that was Sam. She never had too many friends, bless her little heart. Nose always buried in one book or another. Shame: she always seemed to care so much.” Dorothy looked thoughtful. "Have you ever met her?”

“I’ve had the pleasure.” I nodded, opening the folder.

“She’s so nice, isn’t she?” Dorothy smiled faintly, voice almost wistful. “So lovely.”

I fought off the images that rose unbidden in my mind, of her staring affectionately into Wesley’s eyes, embracing him tenderly, the warmth in her eyes and voice when she spoke to him… and the only slightly lesser warmth still there when she spoke to anyone else. She was just perfect. “Yes, she… she is.” I agreed, swallowing. “Did you know her well?”

“Very well.” Dorothy nodded. “I was working here when she arrived, swaddled in a blanket, tiny golden curls all askew. I worked here all the time she was here, all seventeen years.”

“What was she like?” I asked.

“She never caused trouble. Not once.” Dorothy shook her head. “Quiet sort, but a well of opinions once you got her talking. Definitely a smart one, her school reports proved that. They’re in the folder. Always so thoughtful…”

Dorothy sighed again. “Sometimes the world sends you a reminder that life’s not fair, y’know? Sam was a walking one of those.”

“What do you mean?” I scanned Sam’s school reports quickly: the actual reports weren’t here, but the summaries of them compiled by the orphanage staff were. In a word? Outstanding. None of her teachers had had a bad word to say about her. Ever. Never a grade below excellent. 

“She was just…” Dorothy shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. She deserved good parents, a loving upbringing, to be cherished, nurtured and… well, no matter how hard we try at a place like this, it’s not the same as having parents. Sam had this… this warmth about her. This tremendous openness, the sense that she really cared… you could see it when she was looking after the other kids. She took care of them until everything cold and harsh had just faded away.”

“Can you think of an example?”

Dorothy nodded. “There was this one time. I think she was… seven? Maybe eight. She was at school, and a group of bullies were picking on a boy about her age. They’d taken his glasses and they were gonna stomp on them. She ran in - this tiny girl so thin it looked like a stiff breeze would blow her over against these three massive boys - and stood between the three of them and the kid they were picking on. And she said if they wanted to break somebody’s glasses they should break hers.”

“And?”

“They did.” Dorothy sighed. “She handed them over in exchange for them leaving the other guy alone. It was a week before we could get her another pair. But the look on that boy’s face? She did something special.”

“But you said she didn’t have many friends?”

“She didn’t, I don’t know how to explain it.” Dorothy shrugged. “She spent so much time looking after other kids, but she always seemed to be alone.”

“So… definitely a good egg, then?” I prodded.

“Nicest kid that ever passed through here.” Dorothy’s face lit up and she smiled fondly. “She sent us letters, once she was at college. One every couple of years, to check in and say thank you. She put little chocolates in them too.”

“Right.” I nodded, tapping my fingers on the outside of the folder. “Do you have any other copies of her file?”

Dorothy blinked. “Everything gets scanned and backed up to the state’s central database…”

“I meant here.” I smiled hopefully. I’d already checked the central database and it was exactly the same as the file I was holding. 

Maybe Cordy had been wrong. Maybe she’d just been trying to make me feel better. Should I just…

No. Cordy was vision girl. And it had been our…

The last private conversation we’d ever had, the last one Cordy must have _known_ we’d ever have, and she’d chosen to warn me about Sam. That had to mean something. I had to keep digging. There was a secret. Something hidden, there had to be _something_, because Cordy wouldn’t lead me astray.

“Well…” Dorothy frowned. “It’s not official but… but I suppose there’s my archive. My pet project. I keep copies of all the files off-site. Locked up safe in one of them storage places, just in case there was a fire and we lost all the files in the basement. It’s not an official archive but-”

“That sounds ideal.” I reassured her. “Can I go check it out quickly?”

Thirty minutes later, I was hunched over a filing cabinet in an uncomfortably small storage room, leafing through almost innumerable files. “Robert Gale… Jessica Hill… Christopher Ida…” This trip had been pointless. Who had I been kidding? Cordy had just been trying to make me feel better. I’d been insane to come all the way down here. All I’d learned was that Sam’s childhood had been even unhappier than I’d thought, and she’d _still _turned out to be an absolute, perfect ray of human sunshine. This was pointless. I don’t know what I’d been-

Henry Kyle. “That can’t be right…” I muttered, going back a few files in the cabinet. Robert Gale, Jessica Hill, Christopher Ida, Henry Kyle. I checked the front of the cabinet again: surnames A-K. It was the correct time period. Why was Sam’s file missing? I checked the other drawers and didn’t find Sam’s file. 

I cross-referenced the files with the names of every child who’d passed through that orphanage while Dorothy had been there. Only one file was missing: Sam’s. And the intake files in this cabinet didn’t mention her either. Invoices and forms matched the number ofchildren there were according to these files, not the central database ones or the ones at the orphanage.

That could just be a coincidence, a clerical error. A systematic, consistent, unimaginably improbable clerical error, resulting in the number of children recorded as living here being one lower in all these documents than in the central database. It didn’t mean…

It could still just be a coincidence. I’m sure that checking out her school would prove this was a coincidence.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Is everything alright, Agent Bark?” The principal frowned, brow creasing as he scrutinised my fake warrant for the tenth time, like he was hoping it would say something different. “Is Sam safe?”

“She’s very safe.” I smiled reassuringly. As long as she didn’t turn out to want to hurt Wesley. If I found out she was trying to hurt Wesley… no, I didn’t have proof yet. I didn’t have anything. I had to stay calm, stay objective. “Like I said, this is just in connection to an ongoing investigation. A _classified_ investigation.”

The principal nodded, swallowing. “Well… what do you want to know? You have her file.” 

And the file said everything I expected it to. Perfect grades. Perfect attendance. Perfect reports. Not one disciplinary infraction. A shiny, spotless record. And yet she’d been passed over for Valedictorian. One of many things that just… didn’t _quite _add up. Not perfectly. Still, I had to keep looking. Even a tiny discrepancy could be a clue, could shed light on whatever it was Cordy wanted me to find.

“What was Sam like?” I asked.

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“As a student. As a person.” I kept looking through the file. “You did teach her?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I taught her physics. She was an excellent student. Hardworking, polite, excitable, eager to learn… quite brilliant.”

But not _quite_ as brilliant as me, a small part of me noted with no small amount of satisfaction, comparing her grade for physics with mine.

“She was the nicest girl I ever met.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Warm and open. She really cared. Deserved so much better.”

“Better?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Bullies.” His jaw tightened, hands clenching into fists on the desk. “They tormented her endlessly.”

“For being smart?” I felt a twinge of sympathy.

“For everything.” He shook his head in disgust. “For being smart and hardworking. For wearing her heart on her sleeve. For taking care of other kids that got bullied, helping them to feel better about themselves, and never shying away from saying that she thought the bullies were horrible, despicable people.”

“What did they do?”

“Her possessions used to go missing. Books, glasses, clothes. She’d be lucky to make it between classes without one of them trying to frighten her.” He looked livid at the memory. “We never managed to catch them though.”

“Why?” I frowned.

“Sam never told us anything.” He sighed. “Said everything was fine and plastered a smile on her face, when we all knew what was going on. But if she didn’t tell us, corroborate our suspicions…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Why didn’t she tell you?”

“Because while they were targeting her, they weren’t going after anyone else. They focused on her to the exclusion of all others. Every other kid in the year could breathe easier.”

“That’s horrible.” I shuddered at the thought.

“It was awful.” He agreed. “If anything, it got worse once she got older.”

“Why?”

“Because she only got smarter. And she never stopped being nice.” He hesitated. “And she was the most beautiful girl in the school, once she grew into it.”

“The girls were jealous of her on every level…” I nodded. “Looks and brains. So they tormented her even more to hide their own insecurity.”

“Hit the nail on the head.” He nodded. “And I figure she was never interested in any of the boys. Turned a lot of people down. Very nicely but… well. It didn’t help.”

“It sounds awful.”

“It was.” He nodded. “We did everything we could for her. Extra classes after school to help her reach her potential. Kept a close eye in the corridors when we could. But we couldn’t be everywhere.”

“Thank you for your help.” I stood up and smiled gratefully, saying a silent prayer. “I don’t suppose you have an archive of old files, do you?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “In the basement. Do you need to take a look?”

“Afraid so.” I nodded. “Have to be thorough.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Two hours later, I was surrounded by open filing cabinets, frustrated, and very much in need of a relaxing hot beverage (_not_ tea). I glared at the folder I’d pulled out of this archive. I glared at the photo of a smiling, giddy-looking Sam stapled to the front, graduation cap askew, diploma clutched tightly in her hand. I grimaced as I slowly began the process of returning the litany of forms - medical, administrative, and otherwise - all of which stated unambiguously - through student numbers, funding amounts, or just her name’s presence - that Samantha Jennings _had_ attended this high school, and been a model student the entire time.

It didn’t make sense. What was I missing? How could her file - and not just her file, but any proof of her existence - be missing from the orphanage archive, but be right where it was meant to be everywhere else I looked?

Where was the thread to pull? What had Cordy wanted me to find?

I heard a gentle knock on the door behind me and turned around to see the principal standing there, gaze expectant. “Find what you were looking for?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve found everything there is to find here.” I supplied evasively, beginning to return files to their proper place and close drawers behind them, rubbing my forehead and doing my best to fight off a headache. 

“Oh, good.” He hovered awkwardly. “Well. If you need to talk to any of us, the teachers that taught her that is, we’ll be around.”  
“Thank you.”

He nodded, expression becoming thoughtful. “Have you ever… met Sam?”

“Yes, I have.” I informed him, turning my back to him as I closed the last filing cabinet.

“She’s so nice, isn’t she?” He sighed wistfully. “So lovely.”

I stiffened, slowly turning around to face him, keeping my face neutral. 

There it was. 

That faint smile. The exact same smile Dorothy had worn, when she’d said _those exact words_ in that _exact tone of voice_, just earlier today. That was… uncanny. It was uncanny, and just a coincidence, it didn’t prove anything, it didn’t…

“Are any of Sam’s teachers around right now?” I tried to keep my voice casual. “Just for a… a really quick chat.”

“I’m sure they are.” He nodded, turning to walk up the stairs. I followed after him, mind racing. This alone didn’t prove anything. Two different people who knew Sam could think and say the same thing about her. It made sense honestly, and was completely in line with what I knew about her but… the same tone of voice? That same exact smile? It might be something. I didn’t know what, but it might be something.

Twelve teachers, and five identical renditions of the _same _sentence later, I could feel myself buzzing. I was _far_ from an expert on the mystical. And far from an expert on espionage, or spies, or deep-cover agents.

But it did seem to me that a lot of people having the exact same thing to say about her in the same tone of voice, with the same facial expression, was out of the ordinary. That they were unlikely to all say that same _exact_ thing, given how different their personalities were. Unless it was a line that had been written by someone. Written, and then gently inserted into peoples’ minds.

Alongside other memories of a bubbly, happy girl who wouldn’t hurt a spider.

Memories that could be the perfect cover for someone very dangerous indeed.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

Sam curled into my side, arms still wrapped tightly around me. I buried my face in her hair, eyes closed, breathing deeply. She smelled so lovely. So reassuring. I’d never felt safer than I had now. Curled on a warm sofa underneath a blanket, hidden from the world, the woman I loved wrapped around me, shielding me from the world. I felt her breathe in, preparing to break the silence, and opened my eyes in response.

“Wesley…” Sam looked up at me pleadingly. “You… you don’t have to be okay with this.” I nodded.

“She was your oldest friend.” Sam’s green eyes were damp. Her hand moved up to my cheek, gently wiping away a tear. “You… you can keep crying. You can cry for as long as you have to.”

“I think Angel is my _oldest_ friend.” I managed weakly. “Technically.”

“Please don’t deflect.” Sam whispered. “I… I can’t imagine what this feels like.”

“It feels like I lost her again.” I closed my eyes and, had my arms not been wrapped around Sam, my hands would have curled into fists. “Like I was her friend. Like I didn’t see there was something off with her. Like I didn’t see the disaster coming until it was too late. And she _died._ Just like last time.”

“It’s not your fault.” Sam kissed my cheek.

“Sam-”

“It’s _not_ your fault.” She kissed my forehead and squeezed me tighter.

How could I explain what it felt like? Sam had never let anyone down. Never let anyone die. Never done something stupid and alienated herself from her friends, causing fractures and divisions that kept her away from the people who needed her, that kept her from seeing that something was terribly wrong. “Sam, I-”

“It is _not. Your. Fault._” Sam insisted, kissing my other cheek.

“It is.” I whispered, voice cracking, feeling the tears coming to my eyes. “It’s all-”

“_It is not your fault._” Sam rested her forehead on mine. “This is not your fault. This is not your fault.”

“I’m responsible-”

“No!” Sam sobbed, her whole body shaking, and I was caught off guard as she cried into my chest. Oh God, what had I done?

“Sam!” I swallowed, feeling guilt and horror lance through me. “I’m so sorry, I… what did I…”

“I just…” Sam looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mouth opened and shut wordlessly. “I want you to see that this isn’t your fault. That… that your Father was _wrong_, he was so _wrong,_ and the way he treated you was _wrong, _that when he blamed you for everything or tried to break you down he was _so, so, wrong_ and you can’t believe that it’s all your fault because healways told you that everything was, and he made you believe it!”

“No,” I shook my head, resting my forehead on Sam’s. “That’s not… I’m responsible because-”

“Angel, Fred, and Gunn lived with her.” Sam whispered. “Lorne can read minds. What Jasmine did to her is not on you. It’s not… you don’t have to be everyone’s hero.”

“She was my friend.” I closed my eyes and felt my throat burn. “And… I failed her.”

“No, you didn’t.” Sam said quietly. “I’m saying you didn’t. Are… are you calling me a liar?”

“No.” A rueful half-smile curled my lips at the sheer ridiculousness of calling Sam, wonderful guileless Sam, a liar. “But I think you are biased.”

“Wesley,” Sam’s voice was stern. “Look at me.”

I opened my eyes and looked into those wonderful green eyes.

“You’re my whole world.” Sam’s hand came up to cup my cheek. “I’ve never met anyone as kind as you, as sweet as you, as loyal or as courageous as you… but you can’t carry the world on your shoulders. You aren’t Atlas.”

“My friends save the world.” I whispered. “If I don’t… If I _can’t_ take care of them… who will?”

“_We_ will.” Sam kissed me tenderly, just long enough that I began to want for air, and pulled back the barest centimetre. “Let me… let me share your burden. _Please._”

“I… I can’t… I can’t ask that of you.” I whispered. 

“You’re not. I’m _begging_ it of you.” Sam whispered.

The silence hung between us for only a few seconds. “I love you.” I whispered. It was the truest thing I’d ever said.

“That is _not_ a yes.” Sam swallowed.

“Are… are you sure?” I managed. “I… my life… it’s…”

“I’m sure.” Sam didn’t hesitate.

“Thank you.” I felt the strength flood from me, collapsing in exhaustion, cradled in her arms. “Yes. _Thank you._”

“I love you too.” Sam bent down and kissed me. “Thank you… for trusting me. I know it’s… I know you find that hard.”

“It’s never been hard to trust _you_.” I confessed, closing my eyes, relaxing into her warmth. 

Sam sniffled, wrapping her arms around me more tightly. “My Wesley… I love you so much… my Wesley…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Right. I was done. I stood up from my desk, carefully collecting up the forms I had to give Angel and the mailroom on my way out. I began mentally ticking off tasks as I left my office. I’d caught up on all the lab-work, signed off on or rejected all the pending projects, and ensured the lab would run smoothly in my absence. I’d bought myself a day or two off work.

Which meant I’d be able to keep investigating. Because one file missing from a secret archive and a recurring phrase did _not_ a compelling case make. It was a start. I had more to do. I was working on - stealthily, with no direct aid from Wolfram and Hart - retrieving more crucial, sensitive documents and records from state records agencies, and in the meanwhile I had a plane ticket booked to Massachusetts with my fake ID. Inspecting the orphanage where Sam claimed she’d grown up and her supposed school had been helpful. It was time to find out what I could from her college years.

The elevator doors pinged open and I walked briskly to Harmony’s desk, flashing a smile as I handed over the pile of folders. “Good evening, Harmony.”

“Hey, Fred.” Harmony looked less than excited.

“The ones in the blue rubber band are for Angel, the rest are for the mail room.” I explained. 

“Alright.”

“Great. Thanks.”

I spun around, already planning the dinner I was going to scarf down at my apartment before I rushed to the airport, and let out a yelp of surprise, stumbling a step back. Wesley had materialised behind me.

“Good evening to you too, Fred.” He smiled crookedly, blue eyes flashing with good-natured mirth.

“Oh. Good evening, Wes.” I smiled, giving him a once over. He looked good. Like he was dealing with… everything well. “How’ve you been?”

“As well as can be expected.” Wesley nodded. “Took a few days off after…” He hesitated.

“Same.” I confessed. “I just… had to get away, y’know?”

“Definitely.” Wesley nodded, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Are you… that is… how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected.” I admitted.

“Have you been… I just…” Wesley hesitated and sighed, making eye contact. God, he looked at me like he cared so, _so_ much it _ached_. “I hope you haven’t been alone.”

“Oh, me? No. No.” I shook my head. “As a matter of fact, I went out and met some new people.”

“That’s great.” Wesley brightened significantly. “Were they interesting?”

“Very interesting.” I forced a smile, nodding, fighting the guilt stabbing at my insides. Because even if Cordy had told me to do this, even if I was finding something…

I was investigating _Sam._ And I hadn’t told Wesley. And I’d found… _something_, and I hadn’t told him. How would I feel if I knew Wesley had been snooping into my partner’s life? Very cross, probably. But this was different! Cordy had seen something, she knew something and…

I still felt terrible. I _knew_ I couldn’t tell him, that I didn’t have evidence, but…

“Well, as long as you promise not to forget all about me.” Wesley’s mischievous grin was back.

“Not gonna happen.” I smiled, moving one hand up to squeeze his shoulder. “Promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Wesley held up his hand, no trace of irony in his voice. I laughed and wrapped my pinky around his.

“Promise.”

“Good.” Wesley withdrew his hand. “Now, if you’re not too busy wining or dining with your fabulously interesting new friends, how would you feel about grabbing dinner tonight?”

Oh, if only I could tell him that I wanted that more than _anything. _A few months ago, I _would_ have wanted that more than anything. But I couldn’t, I… everything with Sam, and the way I felt, and…

I really wanted to.

“Shouldn’t you and Sam be doing something?” I questioned weakly.

“Her and Spike can come too.” Wesley shrugged. 

But Spike didn’t eat, why on Earth would he-

“And that wasn’t an answer to my question.” Wesley hit me with the puppy dog eyes. “Please? We haven’t seen much of each other in…”

“Too long.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, I just… I really need tonight…” But I’d be back from Massachusetts tomorrow!

“How’s tomorrow?” I suggested, brightening. “My treat?”

Wesley frowned and I felt my stomach sink. "I'm afraid I’m quite busy tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Of course he was.

“I would move it if I could but, the lease on Sam’s apartment does expire at the end of tomorrow. We already wrangled the landlord for a few extra days, so…” Wesley shrugged helplessly. Lease? What was he…

Oh. Oh.

“Oh.” I blinked. “You’re moving in together?”

“Yes.” Wesley smiled broadly. “Yes we are.”

_That could have been me, that should be me, she’s a spy, she’s probably evil, she is-_

_Innocent until proven guilty._

“You… never said.” I managed, forcing a mildly displeased frown in place of the tears that threatened to spill out. 

“This is the first time I’ve spoken to you since it happened.” Wesley confessed. “It happened, well,Sam asked me right after we took care of Lindsey.”

Right after Cordy turned up… what a convenient coincidence. Sam takes things to the next level _right _after an old enemy of Wolfram and Hart, who’s suspicious of her, turns up. Hmm. 

“Wow, you two work fast.” I forced a small smile.

“Sam does.” Wesley smiled sheepishly. “I’m as slow, bumbling, and hesitant as ever.”

“I don’t remember you being any of those things.” I couldn’t keep the words tumbling out, couldn’t keep that kiss - seared into my memory - from blazing across my thoughts, of him against me, his arms around me…

  
Wesley coughed, flushing red. “Umm…”

“I should… probably get going.” I chewed my lip, swallowing.  
“Yes, yes of course, you’re busy and I’m bothering you…”

“You don’t bother me.” I smiled tentatively, genuinely. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow? Evening, that is, will you still be here?”

“I’m out from the afternoon onwards.” Wesley confessed.

“Oh.” Right of course, he had to… had to help Sam move into his… _their_ apartment. “Soon, then?”

“Soon.” Wesley agreed. Soon I’d see Wesley again.

Soon, I’d have proof.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I waved goodbye to Fred as the lift doors closed, stretching my arms overhead as I returned to the office. “Welcome back.” Sam offered me a wide smile as I closed the door behind me, twirling her pen between her fingers.

“Good to be back.” I kissed her cheek as I sat down beside her, shaking my head momentarily to clear it and focusing on my work.

“So, how’s Fred doing?” Sam asked casually, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she looked over her work.

“Well.” I nodded. “In a surprisingly good mood, all things considered.”

“That’s really nice.” Sam smiled (God, her smile was so beautiful). “Did she have a nice couple of days away from work? Assuming she took days off work, I assume she did but maybe she-”

“She did.” I confirmed, chuckling softly. “Said she met some interesting new people.”

“That’s nice. Are her and Spike coming to dinner tonight?”

“She has plans tonight.” I shrugged. “She’s agreed to do a later day though.”

“That’s good.” Sam nodded thoughtfully, then frowned slightly. “Are you… _sure_ she’s alright?”

I paused, thinking. “Yes?” I said hesitantly. I knew Fred, right? I would be able to tell if something was off. She wasn’t that good at lying to me, hiding things from me. I’d been able to tell before when something was off with her, she seemed almost _better_ now than she had been before Cordelia… maybe Cordelia had talked to Fred while she was here, helped her out of her melancholy. Fred had seemed… fine. Better than fine, in some ways. Energetic. Motivated.

Back to her old self.

“Huh.” Sam nodded.

“Oh, bloody hell, what did I miss?” I groaned, resting my head on the desk. Sam hadn’t even _talked _to Fred and she’d been able to tell something was wrong. God, I was an idiot.

“I’m not sure you did.” Sam said hesitantly. “It’s just… well… kinda seems like she’s avoiding everyone, don’t you think? Not spending time with any of the group, hanging out with ‘new friends’… that sounds kind of like someone who’s not dealing with grief very well and is trying to hide it.”

I looked over at her. “How did you-”

“Orphanage.” Sam smiled sadly. “Expert on sad people.”

I gently tugged Sam into a hug, wrapping my arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “You’re not sad anymore, though?”

“No.” Sam smiled. “Very, very happy.”

“Good.” I smiled back and kissed her. “So what should we do about Fred, then?”

“I think letting her sequester herself away for extended periods of time is probably a ‘no’.” Sam frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe we should talk to her? Try to get involved with her work, keep her company, y’know?”

“Sounds good.” I nodded, shaking my head and smiling. “You have all the best ideas, Sam.”

“You’re sweet.” Sam’s smile was dazzling, and I couldn’t help but kiss her again.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“A model student, then?” I raised an eyebrow, observing the professor over the desk.

“Yes, most definitely.” She nodded, stern expression softening a fraction. “Being her research supervisor was a pleasure.”

“Glad to hear it.” I pretended to make a note on my notepad. “Do you keep hard copies of research drafts, or outlines, or initial submissions?”

“The College does.” She supplied.

“I know, I’m asking if you do.” I clarified, resisting the urge to cross my fingers.

“I have a box of initial submissions from some of my more cherished students.” The professor frowned. “Mementos, you understand. I don’t look through them very often.”

“May I take a very quick look?”

“I suppose. Give me a minute.” She stood up and strode out of the room.

I turned to look out over the window and sighed wistfully: Boston. Part of me wished I could have come here - to MIT, not Harvard - to study. But then my life would have turned out so very differently…

“Here.” I jolted upright as she deposited a box of carefully bound documents on her desk, in front of me. 

“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully, and started to look through them, searching for Sam’s. I’d done a lot of thinking on the flight over here, and if my suspicions were correct, then Sam’s research wouldn’t be here…

“Have you talked to Sam over the course of your investigation?” She asked a few seconds later.

Ah. There it was. “Yes, I have.” I nodded.

“She’s so nice, isn’t she?” The stern-faced professor’s gaze softened, tiny smile replacing her frown, eyes becoming warmer for just a few seconds.

“People keep saying that.” I reached the end of my second search of the box and fought to hide my smile: no thesis here. “So, she was definitely your favourite student?”

“Oh, by far and away. It’s hard to find people with a real _enthusiasm_ for ancient ruins, hieroglyphs, and dead languages.”

“When did you start curating this little storage?” I asked idly, tapping the side of the box.

“After I had the first student I really liked.” She paused. “Perhaps twenty years ago?” Well before Sam had come here. Perfect.

“Thank you very much, Professor.” I stood up and offered my hand. She shook. “This has been very enlightening.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

One more archive not known to the wider world. One more archive with no mention of Samantha Jennings whatsoever. In central databases, digital records, and official archives, any documents related to her were perfectly filed and organised. But anywhere that was a purely _personal_ storage, unknown to the wider world? Sam was missing. Entirely. Not a mention of her, even in connection with other people. Sam’s documents - everything at the orphanage, at her high school, here - weren’t real.

Or at least, they weren’t authentic. Someone had fabricated and inserted them - attendance records, school reports, altered photos, letters, accommodation requests - into every database and archive they knew of, then created original evidence of her existence in individuals’ diaries and other notes. And they’d gone a step further, inserting altered memories of their lives - lives that _suddenly_ had Sam in them - into the minds of everyone who ‘knew’ her. As I’d suspected: the ultimate cover story. But any archive that the outside world - and thus whoever had altered reality - didn’t know existed had been safe. Hence the gaps. All meticulously recorded by me. And of course, if you’re going to alter the memories of _hundreds_ (in detail) or thousands (at a surface level) of people to insert a new person into them, you’re going to find it hard to come up with a lot of original opinions. Hence the recurring phrases. The simplistic conception of her character, boiling invariably down to ‘smart, kind, cute’ imprinted on the minds of everyone I’d spoken to. 

Reality had been changed. I couldn’t know _exactly_ when it had happened, but someone had made some very carefully planned alterations to the world, painting a new character into the picture. And presumably getting rid of any information concerning who Sam - if that was her real name - really was. And I wasn’t a mystical expert like Wesley, but I knew that magic like that required serious spell-power and resources. I only knew one organisation with that kind of power. The same organisation that would have noticed if someone outside their ranks had changed reality underneath them to insert a new worker bee into their company.

Wolfram and Hart were most likely responsible for falsifying Sam’s records. Which meant that, once I was done interrogating the last few relevant professors and colleagues up here, I was going to have to fly back to LA. Back to Wolfram and Hart.

I needed to search Files and Records.  


\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Tactical swept her hangouts, and our locators ran through their usual voodoo. Each came back with the same result.” Gunn paused momentarily. I tried very hard to keep my attention on him, and _away_ from the warm, bare foot playfully nuzzling against my leg. I kept my eyes firmly on Gunn, fighting against the itch to nod meaningfully at Sam, and see her smile innocently in response. “Eve has vanished.” Gunn sat down.

“Well, I can’t say I’m particularly depressed by that news.” Angel noted.

“Seconded.” Sam frowned. “She was not a very nice person to work for.”

“She did leave swearing vengeance.” I pointed out, struggling to keep my tone even. “That rarely goes well for us.”

“The Senior Partners don’t take betrayal lightly.” Gunn countered, shrugging. “Tend to liquify people, from what I hear.”

“Gotta figure they whisked her up…” Lorne paused for a moment, turning slightly greener. “In the taken away sense, not the cooking, liquid-y… anyway, they probably grabbed her right after they nabbed the scheming prince.”

“Speaking of which…?” Angel turned back to face Gunn.

“Uh, no news. But going off of company precedent, right about now Lindsey should be boiling in his own filth.”

“‘Should be’ is not gonna cut it. Let’s find out for sure.” Angel looked around, as if Lindsey might leap from under the table and attack him again.

“Well, the white room’s empty. Our liaison to the Senior Partners has vanished. It’s hard getting information anymore. We may be able to establish a new liaison through a…” Gunn frowned. “Through a protocol… uh, sorry, must be tired. We’ve got options. I’ll get on it.”

“Sam!” I jolted in my chair in response to an especially unexpected (and welcome) shift of her foot. Everyone stared at me. Oh, bugger. Improvise. “You’ve worked here longest. How do we re-establish contact with the conduit? Or establish a new liaison?”

“New Liaisons aren’t established on this end. They’re sent here by the Partners, direct. They’ll send us one when they feel like it, and not before. As far the conduit…” Sam chewed her lip thoughtfully. “It can’t have _left_ the white room… but it might be hiding from us. Not a big thinker, that one. Without anybody on this end to give it direction, it’s probably waiting for instructions from the Partners. I can check the books and-”

“That can wait until morning.” Angel waved a hand and leaned back in his chair. “Eve’s vanished. Let’s end on a high note.”

“Oh, calling the patient before midnight on a Friday? Careful, gang. We might get to have social lives.” Sam’s foot withdrew itself from my lap and I began gathering my notes, standing up.

“Speak for yourself.” I muttered. “We’ve got two hours of spell detailing still to do.”

“I got a mess of briefings to go through.” Gunn added, passing me. I loitered by Sam’s chair, waiting until she’d stood up before I made my way towards the door.

“At least Fred is out having fun.” Sam pouted, looking at me over her shoulder. “When do we get to do that?”

“Two hours from now?” I suggested, grinning. “One and a half, if you’re extra productive.” Sam’s pout grew more pronounced and she looked away from me, flipping her hair over one shoulder dramatically. I hid a chuckle behind one hand.

“Well, shall we at least meet back here in a few hours and talk about work some more?” Angel said hopefully. I paused for a second. Sam looked up at me and batted her eyelashes meaningfully. 

“I think I’ll be occupied, I’m afraid.” I apologised. Sam beamed.

“I’m always up for some more work talk.” Gunn smirked at me. “I’ll pick up his slack.”

“What did we do with our lives before we started working here?” Lorne sighed, leading the way out into the lobby.

I smiled fondly at the memories. Reading with Fred in companionable silence late into the evening. Sleeping at a half decent time. Watching awful films and classics alike as a group on the old TV in the Hyperion. And, of course, games. Most of all Jenga. Fred had always trounced all of us at Jenga. “I seem to recall lots and lots of Jenga.”

“Well, if we’re working,” Lorne made for the lifts. “There is a client party down at Skybar with my name _all_ over it.”

“Wait, that counts as work?” Sam frowned. “Which box did I forget to tick that lets me go to a party and count it as work?”

“I imagine you probably _chose_ not to tick it, given that you hate parties.” I pointed out.

“That’s… fair.”

“Besides, you been to Skybar lately? It’s all frat boys and television executives.” Lorne shuddered, turning his back on us.

“Party for him, work for us.” I sighed.

“Work’s not so bad.” Sam smiled. “When it’s with you.”

“Work’s pretty spectacular with you.” I admitted, smiling at her. 

Sam’s eyes softened. “Heigh ho, heigh ho,” She sang. “It’s off to work we go!”

“STOP!” I spun around to see Lorne, in the lift, lunging at the closing doors, panicked expression on his face. 

They shut in his face.

“What was that all about?” Gunn frowned, standing beside me.

“No clue.” Sam tilted her head, chewing her lip nervously.

The lift doors pinged open and Lorne staggered out into the lobby, eyes wide. He pointed at Sam with one finger. “You need to go to the bathroom.”

Sam flushed pink and I choked. “What?” She squeaked, staring at her feet.

“You were thinking about going. You can’t.” Lorne paused. “We’re going to be attacked. Vampire, old buddy of Angel’s. He waits until Sam goes to the bathroom, then knocks her out and starts going after the rest of us.”

“Lorne, what do we do?” I asked, taking a step forwards. “Where is he coming from?”

“That elevator.” He pointed to the one he hadn’t stepped out of. “Eighteen seconds. Or so.”

“Everyone, follow me.” I instructed, moving towards Angel’s office. I signalled the vampire himself to join me as I tossed Gunn an axe, Lorne a crossbow, and Angel a sword. I took another sword for myself. “Vampire, lobby, ten seconds.” I informed him. “Sam, wait here. This shouldn’t take long.”

Sam nodded, positioning herself by Angel’s desk and swallowing. “Be safe.” She whispered. 

“I will be.” I smiled reassuringly, and ran out to join the others by the lift.

There was a ding as the lift doors opened.

A very surprised looking vampire was standing there.

He didn’t last ten seconds.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I let out a frustrated breath, glaring at the mountain of work on my desk. I was out of the office for one evening, plus one morning, and _this_ is what I get back to? Unbelievable. Whatever they were paying me, it wasn’t enough. Not close. Not that I cared about the money. Except to buy takeout food, chocolate, commemorative plates, send my parents gifts, and-

Maybe the money was nice.

I sat down behind my desk and got to work. A while later, I heard a knock at the door and glanced up. A familiar smiling face framed by golden locks was looking at me questioningly through the door’s window. I tried to take a deep breath without it being noticeable, tried _very hard_ not to think about the massive folder I’d assembled in my bag of every major clue I’d found (not counting the huge pile of stuff squirrelled away in various hiding places in my apartment) and smiled brightly, waving her in.

“Hi, Sam.” I stood up. 

“Hey, Fred.” Sam’s smile didn’t waver. She glanced at my chair, then raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you stand up? At ease, soldier!” She grinned playfully.

I rolled my eyes, saluted, and reminded myself that it would be a _very bad_ idea to slam her against the wall right now and demand she tell me everything. I had to play it safe. Play it cool. Couldn’t let her know I was on to her.

For real, this time.

I sat down and nodded for her to do the same. “Sam, how have you been?” I kept my smile broad and my voice bubbly.

“Oh, y’know, fine. Busy, busy, _busy_.” Sam shrugged. “Wesley told you it was moving day, today, right? That’s been a lot of work, but I’m so excited!” Her smile widened as her tone became gushing and I nodded meaningfully.

She was moving in with Wesley. Whom she’d tricked. Seduced. Lied to about every aspect of her life and manipulated into falling for her. I was going to make her pay for that. Make her pay for treating Wesley - wonderful, kind, caring, deserving-only-the-best Wesley - like that. Once I had proof. For now…

“Anything planned to celebrate?” I did my best impression of an ‘I’m-so-happy-for-you!’ tone and expression.

“Wesley’s going to cook.” Sam lit up even further, almost bouncing in her seat. “Something British apparently.”

“I’d be careful with that.” I nodded slowly. “British food is pretty bad.” Sam laughed.

“So, what can I help you with?” I asked, fighting a sudden urge to glance at my bag.

“It’s the opposite actually.” Sam frowned. “Or technically the inverse, I suppose. What I mean to say is-” Oh, _that_ was what she was doing. That couldn’t be a coincidence… could it? She was good.

“- that Wes and me have figured out you’re working on a project.” Sam leaned forwards, smiling conspiratorially. “And we want in.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” I shrugged. “Just boring old work. Standard lab stuff.”

“Nuh-uh.” Sam shook her head, cheeky smile back. “Wes can tell. He told me you had this look in your eye, the kind you get when you’re really close to something. I didn’t see it then, but I can see it now!”

“It’s really nothing.” I shook my head.

“Please.” Sam clasped her hands together and looked at me pleadingly. “Wes and me are in a lull with work. I’m barely doing anything. Let me help you out with your project. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

“If you need work to do, I’ve got some paperwork I can offer.” I joked, gesturing to the pile of forms.

“C’mon, you gotta tell me. This is killing me.” Sam kept her eyes fixed on me. “You’ve been out of the office so much, it’s so unlike you! You’re working on something big! At least give me a hint!”

She was cunning. Crafty. She’d figured out I was doing something out of the ordinary. And - given that Cordy had just shown up recently - she’d decided to investigate. But rather than snoop around my desk, she’d offered her and Wesley’s services. Probing me for intel in such a way that I couldn’t refuse without confirming her suspicions. And still maintaining that perfect smokescreen, her beautiful cover, that spotless and unquestionable act of sweetness and light. But she didn’t fool me. Not anymore.

“This is something I want to figure out myself.” I smiled apologetically. “_But_ if you’re looking for a hint, try thinking about the kinds of articles that might have given me a brainwave about a week ago.” A red herring, of course. But a lot of research articles had come out recently. Enough to keep her guessing. Just enough to keep her away from me for a little more time. The little bit of time I needed.

Sam would be disappointed. But she did an excellent job of hiding it. Her eyes _almost_ seemed to light up as I finished talking. “If you’re sure. But keep us in the loop, alright?”

“Promise.” I smiled and nodded. “Once I’ve got something concrete, I’ll be sure to let Wes know.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I think Fred’s working too much.” Sam announced suddenly.

I turned to regard her over the small mountain of my work and raised an eyebrow. “I think I missed the eighty percent of that conversation which already took place in your head, Sam.”

Sam flushed slightly. “Umm… I just mean… I went to go talk to her, to check up on her y’know, and she was… super evasive. I mean, she’s working all hours of the day and night but won’t talk to anyone about what she’s doing. I’m worried she’s throwing herself into it too much, it’s not healthy…”

“Fred has always guarded her possessions jealously.” I mused, tapping my pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Secrets and ideas most of all.”

“I don’t know, I’m just…” Sam sighed, looking directly at me. “I’ve got a feeling.”

“A feeling?” I questioned.

“A feeling.” Sam squirmed slightly in her chair. “I don’t know, I just… I couldn’t get anything out of her. And I was thinking that… well…”

“I should try.” I finished, frowning and leaning back in my chair.

“You two are best friends.” Sam said hesitantly. “I just feel like if anyone can convince her to take some time off work, or even get her to talk about what’s wrong…”

“Yes, you’re right.” I nodded, squaring my shoulders internally. Sam was perceptive. If she thought Fred needed help, she was probably right.

And if Fred needed help, I was going to be there for her. Always.

“If you talked to hear earlier today, then today is a bad time for me to go.” I reasoned. “She’ll feel interrogated. I’ll talk to her in a few days.”

“Fred’s lucky to have a friend like you.” Sam smiled encouragingly.

“Quite the inverse.” I clicked my pen back open. “I’m lucky to have a friend like Fred, especially after… everything.” If Fred was hurting, I had to help her. She would do the same for me.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I cast one last glance around the cavernous, chilly room: empty. Filing cabinets seemed to stretch for acres into the distance, but there wasn’t a person in sight. Which worked fine for me. I began to walk down the relevant aisle, glancing behind me occasionally. No sense in being careless. 

Not when I was this close. Because the Partners were nothing if not meticulous, to a fault in fact, so there had to be _something_. Every branch of Wolfram and Hart had the _same_ exact files and records chamber, so this one had to have information about Sam. Who she really was. Her real name. Her purpose. And why the Partners had gone to so much effort to place a spy within our midst. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. I was going to get some answers. And I had to do it now. Because at any moment, we could have a new liaison, or the conduit could manifest again and then… then the Partners would be able to see what I was doing. And I doubted they’d like it. I didn’t want to think what they might do. Twist my memories? Bend reality again to keep me in the dark? Or just arrange an accident? Coming here was a risk. It was why I hadn’t come sooner: coming here, without knowing for sure I had to… very risky.

But I was getting off track. Losing focus on what I needed to focus on, which was the search. I was in employee records. Surnames beginning with H, with I… J. Here we were. I scanned the labels on more detail, drawing to a stop by the drawer labelled “Ja - Ji”. I carefully removed from bug sweeper (calibrated to check for both mystical and technological sensors and traps) from my bag and carefully scanned the cabinet. All clean.

Quickly, so I didn’t lose my nerve, I grabbed the drawer and pulled it open. I began paging through the folders in the drawer, sweeping the drawer one last time with my device to be safe before I tentatively withdrew the document. A brown folder. Not too thick. Sam’s name - at least the one she’d given us - stamped neatly, precisely on the front. Resisting the urge to sweep for bugs again, I sat on the floor cross-legged and tentatively opened the folder.

No gust of wind. No ominous shriek. No foul demon materialising before me to take off my head. Going great so far. I began to read through it. Backstory information: her date of birth, childhood history, grades, information about her friends and colleagues from college… nothing I didn’t already know. And nothing here to suggest it was a fabrication either. I frowned, and kept looking. A thick wedge of the papers in this folder were dedicated to the exact circumstances of her ‘recruitment’ into Wolfram and Hart: details of the tomb, the rescue operation conducted, a copy of her contract. Neatly signed and initialled. Details of her promotion to deputy head of research and intelligence, some notes from Sirk - all thoroughly disparaging - and a performance review. Which she’d passed with flying colours.

But it was lies! I _knew_ this was lies, I knew it! _Every_ archive, _every_ collection of information Wolfram and Hart couldn’t have known about, she was missing from. Mentions of her crammed into every digital database, every public record, but look at the private records, and it was like she’d never existed! The recurring phrases used to describe her, her convenient sob story so perfectly explaining her innocence and purity despite her employment with Wolfram and Hart… the evidence condemned her. But this file didn’t, instead it just seemed to-

Confirm her backstory. Of course! The Partners knew we worked here, they knew Wesley was cautious, that him or one of us would come here looking for information on here. So this file was a smokescreen, a fake, but there was still a real file, somewhere, which meant it had to be…

In the Restricted Section. Oh fish-sticks.

There could be another file. I could just check here quickly, look around, make sure it wasn’t squirrelled away. Just to be safe. But one thorough search of the finance records - confirming her pay checks had been normal for the last few years - and the firm’s intelligence reports revealed nothing more. 

So I swallowed my fear, clutched my sweeper that much more tightly and entered the restricted section. My sweeper still wasn’t picking anything up. I crept through the stacks, grimly advancing down the dusty avenues. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed filing cabinets could radiate menace. These ones did. In spades. I reached the cabinet labelled ‘J’ and carefully swept it. Still no defences. I swallowed, checked over my shoulder again, and opened the drawer. I scanned the contents quickly. Then, I flipped through them, scrutinising every file. 

_Nothing. _No mention of Jennings. I pushed the drawer back shut and rushed to ’S’, sweeping it briefly before pulling the drawer open and searching. _Nothing. Again._

I groaned and drew a deep breath. “Think, Fred.” I hissed to myself. “Think! Where could it be? What would it be filed under if not her nam-”.

Not her name. _Samantha Jennings wasn’t her name, it was a cover story._ Of course they wouldn’t file it under that, they were too clever. But if it wasn’t there… I gazed over the rows of cabinets helplessly. If she wasn’t there then… then it might take me weeks to search all these cabinets! I wouldn’t even know the name of the file I was looking for! Even if I had the time to read every file - and the mental fortitude to survive all the Partners’ darkest secrets - there was no way in hell Sam wouldn’t catch me if I started spending all my time down here. I resisted the urge to kick a cabinet. I didn’t have time, I needed more-

Time. That was the logical thing to check. Of course. Reality had been changed. To implant people’s memories of Sam’s fake life into their minds. But when would they have changed it? I began pacing. Reality shifting… that had to take serious mojo. The Partners wouldn’t commit unless they knew they were going to see a return. Which meant they wouldn’t have done it before we agreed to take over. Which also explained why Sirk gave Wesley the tour, not Sam. Why expend resources on such a scale creating the perfect cover for a spy, when they might be rendered useless? The Partners didn’t take unnecessary risks. Which meant that the shift must have taken place between us agreeing to take over the branch, and when we met Sam the next morning. 

Yes. The Partners wouldn’t want to put her in later, wouldn’t want to fabricate too many memories, especially of our time with her. If they had, Sam would be two-dimensional to us, like she was to everyone else in her ‘past’. Recurring phrases, too-similar opinions… no, they couldn’t fool us. Couldn’t fool Wesley. Couldn’t create memories detailed enough. She would have had to worm her own way into his confidence. So. Between when we took the deal, and the morning after. That was a short period of time. I could search that. I navigated my way out of the section organised by alphabet, into the section organised chronologically (guess the Partners didn’t care about saving paper) and slowly made my way to the correct cabinet.

I felt like I was buzzing. Fizzy. Almost light-headed. I took several breaths to calm myself. In this drawer was the _truth_. Nothing would be hidden from me any longer. Today was the day.

Today was the day I found out who Sam _really was._

I swept the cabinet and, without further ado, pulled open the top drawer. I scanned it: no reality-alterations. Next drawer down. I started at the back, working my way forwards. I froze in place, staring at the writing on the tab of an _immensely_ thick folder:

** Reality Alteration. 07/05/2003. 17:21. Reference: SJ **

I desperately cast my mind back:just past five. I was… in the lobby, right? I’d just toured the lab for the first time, seen everything, got back, I was dancing with Lorne and I’d bumped into Wesley (which had felt nice) and we’d talked and… Angel had returned. Told us he’d made an Executive Decision, to take the deal.

Almost to the damn minute. They sure worked fast. I quickly checked the rest of the drawer: nothing else. My hand shook ever so slightly as I lifted the folder out of the drawer. I looked around and swallowed, opening it.

Neatly stapled to the corner of the first page was a photo of Sam. Her name typed at the top of the page. Detailed physical information - description, height, weight, BMI, measurements, a _DNA profile _\- and a comprehensive-looking list of personality traits! They ran all down the page. Alongside a list of crucial incidents from her ‘past’ (aka, the key components of her cover story). 

** Crucial Incident - Age Remembered - Details & Desired Impact **

** First Memory - 6 months - Bashed leg on crib. Cried for hours. Nobody came. Inspire feelings of guilt and sympathy in orphanage staff. **

** Stood up to Bully - 4 years , 2 months - Stood up for bullied child, sacrificing her glasses in place of his. Inspire sorrow and sympathy in WWP. **

I skimmed the information, turning page after page. Memories to be inserted. Plugging guilt and affection into the minds of carers and teachers, hatred and aggression into the minds of children who’d ‘bullied’ her, gratitude and warmth into friends and acquaintances… so many fake memories.

I couldn’t get bogged down reading these, there were thousands of incidents logged here. An entire fake life. The perfect cover story. I flicked past the pages concerning memories, stopping on the page after. I froze in place. My mouth went dry. My eyes were fixed on the neatly printed words.

** Function: Infiltrator / Saboteur **

** Primary Goal: Replace Winifred Burkle **

** Secondary Goals:  **

** 1\. Seduce Wesley-Wyndam Pryce **

** 2\. Infiltration of Angel’s core team **

** 3\. Foster meaningful connection between team and Firm **

** 4\. Fill void left by Winifred Burkle’s demise. **

“I knew it.” I whispered to myself, staring almost disbelievingly at the page. 

“I knew it.” I said the words slightly louder, feeling righteous anger and _vindication_ surging through me. “I knew it, _I knew it, I KNEW IT!”_

I’d been right all along! She _was_ evil! She was a saboteur, working for the Senior Partners themselves! This whole time, she’d been manipulating all of us! Fooling Lorne, manipulating me into helping her, and-

Wesley. Oh my God.

Poor Wesley…

She’d… he’d… he _loved _her. Wesley, who never trusted anyone, who was so cautious of people, who didn’t dare open himself up to anyone, had given her his heart and… and it meant _nothing_ to her.How much he cared about her, it meant _nothing._ She was just manipulating him, acting under orders, she didn’t give a damn about him, or love him or…

I realised belatedly that my nails were digging painfully into the skin of my palms, hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. She was… it was almost beyond evil. To do that to anyone, anyone at all would be awful, but to do that to _Wesley_, who deserved so much better, she…

It was monstrous. She was going to pay. I was going to make her pay for what she’d done to him, for manipulating him, for pretending to be in love with him. No price would be high enough for what she’d done. Not even close. 

But I was in danger. A great deal of danger. Because… because this form listed, clear as day, that the Partners were expecting me to _die._ And I really doubted they meant it in the long-term sense of the word. I glanced around again: still nobody else down here. I had a little more time. I could just flick through the file, see if I could find out anything about who she really was…

I turned the page and stiffened. After the last page, I’d thought nothing could shock me. But this…

** ‘Samantha Jennings’, Date of Creation: 07/05/2003 **

** Species: Artificial Human Type 1 **

** Physical Creation: Undertaken directly by Senior Partners. Their blood used in the ritual to forge her physical form. (NB: Sumerian coalescence powder also used)  **

** Characteristics: Supreme strength and durability (only in cases of emergency) **

** Criteria of form: Appearance modelled on Winifred Burkle. Adjusted as necessary to prevent over-association of the two and avoid suspicion. Height matched, weight matched. Petiteness of figure near-matched, some physical assets improved. Eyes green to prevent over-association with WB or LM. Hair blonde/brown to evoke favourable associations with WB & LM, and long to meet WWP’s preferences. Pale skin assigned for same reasons. Facial structure similar, but nose size decreased and shape altered. **

** Cover Personality / Memory Implantation / Reality Shift overseen by C. Vail. (see “Connor”) **

** Cover Personality: Modelled on Winifred Burkle, with minor alterations to increase desirability and prevent over-association. Intelligence estimated approximately equal to WB, thus in excess of WWP. Expertise in mystical affairs and languages to ensure admiration of WWP. Modesty with regards to intelligence and physical appearance crucial. Persona is sweet, cute, extremely eager, yet shy. This should prove ideal combination to guarantee affections of WWP. **

Sam… Sam wasn’t even _human._ Oh, God. She was… the _blood_ of the _Senior Partners?_ She was only a few months old in real terms! A remorseless monster, conjured up by the Senior Partners. And they… they’d _designed_ her based on… based on _me._ They’d used my appearance, my personality to create their agent because they… because they’d known Wesley used to love me. My stomach twisted: Sam was… she was… it was _sick._ Designed to be the perfect trap for Wesley, something he couldn’t resist.

But _I _could have helped him. If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I’d just told him how I felt about him, if I’d only - for once in my life - been honest about the way I felt about Wesley, we could have been together. He’d be safe from Sam. He wouldn’t have to be heartbroken once he found out the truth.

Well. One thing was certain. I couldn’t handle this alone, not any more. I had proof. Proof of what Sam was, what she was capable of. It was time I got some backup. Time I brought in my friends.


	10. Old Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred gathers her allies, and prepares to move against Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! Please forgive me!

**Angel**

The phone on my desk rang. I groaned, ran one hand through my hair, mentally prepared myself for one more scumbag client and picked it up. “Boss?”

“Harmony.” A minor improvement. Minor, but, still. When life gives you lemons… “What is it?”

“You know how you said you didn’t want to be disturbed?”

“Yeah. I was liking that. Until you disturbed me.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll tell Fred to go aw-”

“Harmony! You didn’t let Fred in?” I demanded.

“You said you didn’t want to be-”

“That doesn’t apply to Fred, I, just… send her in.”

“Okay.”

The door opened and Fred walked in purposefully, carrying a stack of forms. “Those all for me?” I sighed. More expenses requests. God, Fred spent an unholy - pun intended - amount of money. I should probably walk around down there sometime, make sure that she wasn’t just buying gold-plated taco vending machines or something.

“No, just this one.” Fred lifted up the top two folders, snuck the one beneath them out and handed it to me. “Standard budget update. Do you think you could sign off on it by the end of the day?”

“I…” Fred shot me a pleading look, brown eyes softening. Dammit. “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Angel.” Fred shot me a small smile, then backed away slowly. “I should uhh… get back to it.”

“Course.” I nodded, then paused. “Tell Harmony if Wes, Gunn, Lorne or Sam want to see me they can step right in.” No need to keep any of them out. They didn’t cause me problems or headaches. Or at least, they caused the good kind.

I could have sworn Fred’s smile faltered for a half second, but then it was back. “Got it.” She nodded, and walked out, closing the door behind her.

I tossed her folder on the top of my in-tray and kept working on the stuff on my desk. It was almost forty minutes later that I reached out for it, put it in front of me and flipped it open. Five minutes after that, I got halfway through the folder and found a handwritten note:

Angel, I can’t explain this in writing. We’re being  watched . We’re in  danger .  Do nothing unusual. Tell nobody. Be at my apartment by five-forty tonight. If you can, come through the sewers. I’ll explain everything. Eat this note.

I tried not to let the anger show on my face. I flicked my gaze around my office, listening more intently. I couldn’t _hear_ anyone in here. But if Fred was this worried… well, it was something. Still, if she was getting me in on this, it meant she probably already had some ideas. 

Was she serious about eating the note? I looked at her handwriting. Dammit. I crumpled up the note, steeled myself, and started chewing.

\+ + + + + + +

**Gunn**

“Hey, Charles!” Fred smiled, picking her way into my office.

“Hey, you.” I gestured to the seat opposite me. Fred flashed me a grateful smile as she sat down. “Now, what is a woman as pretty as you doing in an office as boring as this?”

Fred laughed and rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I need you to get some of your Intellectual property lawyers to work patenting something for me.”

“Sure. What are we talking?”

“Paralysing grenade.” Fred handed me a file. I opened it, giving the schematics a cursory glance. “Should allow us to cut down casualties a lot in wartime regions. Especially the collateral kind.”

“And make a tidy profit distributing the goods.” I nodded. “Consider it done. There a rush?”

Fred pulled a face. 

I chuckled. “Let me guess: progress waits for no woman?”

“Or lawyer.” Fred chided. “Look, I don’t want instant results but… could you just check all the info you need is in there by end of day?”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“No.” Fred shook her head. “All good.”

“Good.” I nodded. Fred looked… better. Which was weird. Because she’d been looking kind of downcast for the last couple of weeks, and then this last week it was like a switch had been flipped. She had zest again. “See you around?”

“See you around.” Fred agreed, and rushed out the door. I chuckled and opened the file.

Stuck to the back of the third sheet was a post-it note. I plucked it off, expecting a witty comment from a tech. Then I read it. I read it again.

Charles, we’re being watched. We’re in danger. Do nothing unusual. Tell nobody. Be at my apartment by five-thirty tonight. If you can, make sure you aren’t followed. I’ll explain everything. Destroy this note.

I blinked. Oh, damn.

\+ + + + + + +

**Lorne**

“Listen, honey, sweetie, doll,” I spoke soothingly. “I am telling you, this is the next big step. It’s the way to go. I am your agent, I am your guru, your spiritual guide to LA, have I ever steered you wrong?”

“I know you haven’t, darling…” The latest in a long line of divas I had to deal with today sighed on the phone. “It just feels so… pedestrian…”Which is why it’s perfect for you to get back on your feet after your last debacle! Just make something that _isn’t a mess_, for crying out loud!

“Good afternoon, Lorne!” Fred whispered, waving as she walked into my office.

Thank God. I could play this.

“Snookie,” I beckoned Fred over urgently, talking into the phone. “Listen. Let me put you on the line with _my_ guru… Francesca Iandola.”

“Who’s Francesca Iandola?” 

Fred’s face morphed into a look of panic. She shook her head vehemently. “Are you sure you haven’t heard of her?” I faked puzzlement. “I mean, I just assumed _everyone_ had-”

“Oh, did you say _Iandola_? Of_ course_, darling, I’m so sorry. Put her on.”

“Now she is the best at what she does.” Which was definitely true. “Here!”

I looked at Fred pleadingly. She shot me an exasperated look and took the phone. “Ciao!” It took a lot of effort to keep from giggling at Fred’s attempt at an Italian accent. Still, it would probably be enough to fool someone who hadn’t left LA for more than two weeks in the last three years. “Yes, Lorne told me _everything_.” Fred’s tone shifted to one of disdain. “Yes, of course he’s right.”

A longer pause. “Oh, there’s no point to this.” Fred did an intentionally bad job of covering the receiver with one hand and turned to speak to me, accent as awful as ever. “Lorne, I thought I advised you to… write this one out of our books? And now you’re giving her _this_ opportunity? I wanted this to go to one of our rising stars.” Oh, she was a genius.

Fred lifted the phone back to her ear. “Hmm? I see.” 

She passed me the phone. “Hello?” I kept my voice chipper.

“Darling, I changed my mind. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I… can I still have the part?”  
I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “Of course you can, my beating heart. Anything for you.”

“Oh, thank you! Lorne, _you’re_ the star!”

“Oh, you’re too sweet. Tell you what, I’ll call the director, have him loop you in. Break a leg. Ciao!” I hung up and clasped my hands together. “Fredikins, you are a miracle worker.”

“I trust I was helping a good cause?” Fred raised an eyebrow, taking a seat.

I hesitated. “That depends. Do you consider all art to have inherent value independent of its quality or lack thereof?”

“I don’t want to answer that, do I?” Fred smiled. I gave her a thumps-up.

“So, what brings an intellect of your magnitude to my neck of the woods?” I drummed my hands on the desk. “Shall I have Van fetch some pastries, or…”

“No, no, it’s just…” Fred leaned in. “One of my scientists… it’s their kid’s birthday next week. And they’re a huge fan of Harry Potter. Could you get them tickets to the premiere? It’d be a nice surprise?”

“Sweetie, I will have the tickets delivered by Owl if that is your wish.” I smiled.

“You have read my mind.” Fred smiled broadly. “Here’s the address, and the kid’s name. Oh, and the day for the Owl to arrive. Which is his birthday, obviously.”

“Consider it done-zo.” I took the paper from Fred, fanning myself with it. “You doing anything tonight?”

Fred smiled and shook her head. “Nah, just a quiet night in. Some reading. Y’know.”

“Urghhhhhh.” I shook my head and reached out to squeeze both her hands. “Fred. Winifred. Fredikins. Fred, Fred, Fred, that is _not_ good enough. Tell you what, there is a party tonight, with free drinks and chocolate, and I guarantee that at least… 28% of the people there will be great company.”

“So tempting.”

“Can I at least join you in your apartment?” I switched tactics, turning on the pleading eyes. “Watch some movies?”

“Do you ever switch off?” Fred laughed, then frowned. “You are still sleeping, right?”

“Promise!” I held up both hands. “Pleasssee?”

“Alright, I guess.” Fred let out a theatrical sigh. “Just come over whenever you feel like it. And bring your own ice cream.”

“For you to eat?” I grinned as she stood up. Fred blew me a kiss as she walked out. I chuckled and unfolded the paper.

Lorne, we’re being watched. We’re in danger. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust your abilities. Do nothing unusual. Tell nobody. Be at my apartment by four-fifty tonight. If you can, make sure you aren’t followed. I’ll explain everything. Destroy this note.

\+ + + + + + +

**Spike**

I cracked my knuckles and rolled my neck, grinning at the surge of adrenaline accompanying the singularly satisfying sound of a vampire turning to dust. God, I loved that ‘pfft’ noise. Even if the dust getting on my jacket was bloody inconvenient.

“You were pulling your punches.” 

I nearly jumped out of my skin as I spun around in the sewer. Fred - very purposefully _not_ touching any of the walls - stood in the centre of the sewer behind me. “Well.” I paused, trying to catch up with this sudden turn of events. “Yeah. But if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been any bloody fun. Vamp was a total softie.” 

“This coming from the guy who writes poetry, used more hair product this week than I have in my whole life, _and_ hogs the bathroom?” Fred raised one perfect eyebrow, mischievous smile tugging at her mouth.

“Hey!” I pointed at her accusingly, feeling myself heat up marginally. “Look. We agreed, going into this, that there’d be no talk about showers or bathroom time!”

“I don’t remember _agreeing_,” Fred began rummaging through her backpack. “I remember offering to let you sleep on my sofa, and you _begging me_ \- after your first shower - never to talk about how long you took.”

I swallowed. Fred really was a master of meaningful looks. It really didn’t help that I _knew_ she was fifty times smarter than me and was paying the hot water bill. Enough to make a hardened vampire feel guilty and self-conscious. “Well, yeah. But-”

Fred pulled out a contraption that looked rather like one of the bug detectors she’d used to make sure she wasn’t being watched in the early days at Wolfram and Hart, the ones modified by Percy to check for magical surveillance. She slowly began running it up and down herself, then me. 

I’d been silent for all of half a second when Fred shot me a meaningful glare. I got back to talking, mind racing. “I’d really take silence as a kind of tacit agreement, especially seeing as how we haven’t broached the subject since. And it’s not so much that I use a lot of product, as that you don’t use any. Not all of us are born with perfect, luscious hair! Mine doesn’t self-clean you know, what with my bodily processes not working anymore, and let me tell you it takes a lot of bloody work to keep my hair this-”

“We’re clean.” Fred announced, returning the contraption to her bag.

“-bloody immaculate, and what is going on?” I frowned. 

“We’re in danger.” Fred glanced up and down the sewer. I breathed in: nothing else living but rats for a good hundred metres in any direction.

“Nobody nearby.” I volunteered.

“I meant in general.” Fred frowned. I kicked myself. Of course. But then- “From Wolfram and Hart.”

If my throat could go dry, it would have done. “This whole ownership thing suddenly not working out?” I asked.

“They’ve been playing us from the start.” Then Fred frowned. “I mean, of _course_ they have, but it’s worse than we thought. Much worse.”

“What do you need me to do?” I folded my arms and prepared to listen attentively. “What’s the situation?”

“I’m gathering everyone tonight, covertly. At my place.” Fred zipped up her backpack. “Just come back through the sewers like you normally would. I’ll explain everything then.”

“You figured it out.” I grinned broadly. “You figured out the Partners’ game, didn’t you pet?”

“Kinda.” Fred smiled slightly. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Great job. I knew you could-” I stiffened. Wait. If they were… then he was-

“Spike?” Fred frowned, squinting up at me.

“Don’t tell Angel I sleep on your sofa!” I blurted out. Angel couldn’t know, he couldn’t, I’d never hear the end of it, and then he’d ask Fred about showers, and hair product and-

“You two are unbelievable.” Fred rolled her eyes, turned around and started walking away. “Mortal danger, and the first thing he asks is ‘don’t tell Angel I’m sleeping on your sofa’, I swear, are all vampires…”

“That’s a _yes_, right?” I yelled after her.

Fred didn’t respond. 

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Lorne was the first to arrive, as instructed. I answered the doorbell with a bright smile on my face. “Hey, Lorne!” I beckoned him in welcomingly.

“Good afternoon, Fredikins!” Lorne waddled in, tub of ice cream in hand, hiding his nervousness very well. Only the smallest movements of his eyes gave him away. “What’s on the agenda? Because I was thinking we should definitely watch-”

Lorne chattered amiably about films as I ran the bug sweeper over him, then stopped talking once I gave him the all clear. I’d already swept myself and my entire apartment multiple times. No bugs. So as long as I was careful to sweep everyone who came in, and everything they brought with them, I’d be fine. She wouldn’t find out.

I couldn’t let her find out yet. 

Lorne glanced around like he was looking for ninjas, then swiftly dropped the tub on the counter and looked at me intently. “What’s going on?” He swallowed. “And what’s with the cloak-and-dagger Fred? Jeez, my poor blue heart, I thought I was gonna-”

“Sorry Lorne, but I really don’t want to have to explain this four times.” I smiled apologetically. “Can you wait for the others to arrive?”

Lorne swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not a clever joke then?”

“Deadly serious, sorry.”

“Alright, then.” Lorne fidgeted. “Guess we’ll just wait.”

Charles arrived next, speeding into the apartment, scouring the place expertly with his eyes for enemies or traps. He was bug-free and willing to be patient. Spike arrived next, joining Lorne and Charles on the sofa. Last to arrive was Angel, frowning at the sight of Spike (typical!) and mercifully bug-free.

“This way please.” I opened the door to the dining room and led the way inside. Lorne whistled once he got in: I’d prepared a copy of a detailed folder containing all my research for each of us, which were currently lying closed on the table in front of everyone’s seats. And I’d set up a mini-projector at one end of the table to project the absolutely crucial bits of information onto the wall.

I moved to hover at my end of the table, waiting anxiously as the others sat down, wearing uniform expressions of trepidation. 

“You already clued Wes in, then?” Angel ventured once he was seated. “He’s covering for us, because you already told him. That’s why he’s not here?”

“Not… not exactly.” I felt guilt twist my gut. How was I supposed to tell Wesley that the woman he loved was an enemy spy, sent to seduce him? “For reasons that will become clear.”

Everyone looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat. “The Senior Partners sent a spy to keep track of us. And I know what you’re going to say, _obviously_, they’re spying on us but… but it’s worse than that. For two reasons. Reason number one.” I took a deep breath. “Sam is the spy. Working directly for the Senior Partners. Reason number two is just what she is, which I’ll get to.” I turned on the projector, displaying the first of my slides detailing my research into Sam’s ‘past’. 

“If you’ll all open your folders to page two, I’ll get started. My investigations began when Cordelia came to talk to me…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I let out a deep breath. I’d told them everything I knew. “And if you want to review the information concerning Sam’s cover story, cover personality or the reasons for either of them, they’re in the back of your folders.” I sat down heavily, looking around. 

One thing was certain: they all believed me. Charles looked mad as hell, Lorne was wide-eyed and rubbing his forehead, Spike was with Charles, and Angel looked concerned. “I’d never have guessed. Damn.” Charles thumped the table, perhaps more gently than the situation might have allowed. “Dammit!”

“I didn’t see anything.” Lorne muttered, shaking his head. “I… I never… when she sang, she… she looked _innocent_, I swear, completely innocent, never even a trace of…”

“It’s probably a feature.” I set out the conclusion I’d reached upon reading the file. “I mean, if I was making my perfect, artificially human spy from scratch, I’d definitely make them immune to mind or aura reading. Something in her construction was probably specifically designed to thwart your reading, make her look squeaky clean.”

“She must have been laughing her head off at us this whole bloody time.” Spike shook his head, looking disgustedly at the folder. “Evil, duplicitous bitch. Playing the ingenue, when she’s a preying bloody mantis.” He paused for a moment. “Still, not all bad news. Wesley would never have disclosed anything classified to her, he’s careful like that. It’s not like she’s been sitting in your meetings.”

“Yeah, guess that’s something.” I agreed. Tiny, _tiny_ positives.

Angel, Gunn, and Lorne were looking very intently at the table all of a sudden.

“Right?” I raised an eyebrow, looking between them, feeling my stomach sinking.

Gunn cleared his throat. “Sam… Sam may have sat in on a couple of our meetings this week. While you were absent. Wesley suggested we bring her in to advise on a specific mystical problem we were having, we agreed and then we… never uninvited her.”

“But not the important meetings, right?” I questioned. They didn’t respond. My blood pressure went up noticeably. _“Seriously?”_

“She was an expert on Wolfram and Hart. And everything mystical.” Angel said reluctantly. “Plus, Wes vouched for her, and anyone that _Wesley_ trusts…”

“Oh, you colossal birk!” Spike exploded. “You brought the _spy_ into your bloody strategy meetings? Let me guess, you let her influence some of your decisions while you were at it?”

“She made some convincing arguments about one or two of them…” Lorne buried his face in his hands. “Sweet Lucy Ricardo.”

“Guess she did her job.” I shook my head, feeling numb. “‘Infiltration of Angel’s core team’.” And none of us had ever suspected a thing. If Cordelia hadn’t warned me…

“She ain’t done all of it yet.” Charles growled. “And she won’t.”

“Damn right.” Spike nodded. “I’m particularly emphatic concerning objective number four. All agreed?”

There was assent. “She won’t touch a damn hair on your head.” Angel cracked his knuckles. I smiled gratefully. Thank God they believed me! Thank you, Cordelia!

“But first priority, right now, is Wesley. He’s most at risk. We gotta bring him in.” Angel steepled his fingers and looked round the table. “Agreed?”

I felt my throat go dry. Did he have to find out like this? Was there no other way… no _better_ way, to break the news to him? I avoided Angel’s gaze. Charles, Lorne, and Spike did the same.

Guess this was why Angel was the boss. He made the tough decisions.

“Guys, come on.” Angel tapped a page meaningfully. “Secondary goal, number one. _Seduce_ Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. We gotta tell Wesley before she manages to put the moves on him. Which, by my estimation, is gonna be pretty damn soon.”

I stared at Angel disbelievingly. Surely he… there was no way he was so _oblivious_ that-

“She managed that months ago, you colossal twerp!” Spike groaned.

Angel blanched. “Wes and Sam are _dating?_”

“For months.” I said quietly. “They just moved in together, Angel.”

“But…” Angel’s mouth opened and closed. “But she’s a _spy_!”

“That’s kind of the problem, Angel-cakes.” Lorne rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed. “But don’t blame Wes. If she beat my mojo, I don’t doubt she could have fooled any one of us.”

“She _did_ fool us.” Charles pointed out, eyes narrowing. “Hell, I just picked out a damn birthday present… I’ll return it.”

“But she’s…” Angel shook his head. “She’s literally evil incarnate. The _flesh and blood_ of the Senior Partners… like their evil child.”

“Which is good, in our case.” I paused, waiting until everyone was looking at me. “Because that means she’ll _know_ things.”

“The Partners’ secrets.” Angel muttered. “All their plans.”

“Certainly their plans for us.” Charles nodded slowly. “Hell, she might even share some traits with the Conduit. Act as a link to them. A weakness.”

“If we grab her…” Spike mused. “Confront her with everything we know, keep her out of the Partners’ sight, get her to flip on them…”

“She could be a game-changer.” I nodded. “But I don’t think she’ll be easy to catch.”

“‘Supreme strength and durability’.” Lorne used air quotes, shuddering. “I don’t want to find out what the _Partners’_ definition of supreme strength is.”

“Plus, there’s the magical expertise.” Charles grimaced. “We attack her, she might fry us with a fireball.”

“The Partners don’t want us dead. We know that much.” Angel drummed his fingers on the table. “And she won’t know we’ve broken her cover. If we grab her fast, don’t let her figure out we’ve made her until after she’s contained… she’ll hold back to keep up her cover. That’s gotta be her top priority. If she unleashed super strength whenever something went wrong, all the work the Partners put into her cover story, her creation itself…”

“Down the drain.” Spike nodded, grinning. “She won’t defend herself, not properly. We got her over a barrel.”

“Only if we can contain her, _and_ keep the Partners from busting her out with some mojo, or sending backup.” Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Any ideas, Fred?”

“I’ve had the lab working on some _pretty_ unbreakable chains.” I allowed myself a grin. “And I don’t think it’ll take too long to get those symbols Lindsey had tattooed on himself installed somewhere.”

“None of Wolfram and Hart’s holdings.” Charles interjected.

“Somewhere we’ll really be hidden from the Partners’ sight.” Lorne nodded. “Good call.”

“So, what’s the play?” We all turned to Angel.

He thought for a minute, then grimaced. “We can’t tell Wesley.”

“Why not?” I shifted uncomfortably. “Angel… if anyone deserves to know… it’s him. I couldn’t tell him when it was just me, but all of us-”

“Talking to Wes without Sam around is nigh impossible anyway.” Angel shook his head. “Even if we could convince him - and I make it decent odds that even someone as logical as Wesley is going to emotionally reject this kind of deception at first - if she’s watching anyone… it’ll be him. Closely. We can’t tell Wesley until after we have her contained, and ideally until we have a confession.” I felt my stomach sinking. It made sense but… but he had a _right_ to know, I mean, he _loved_-

“He’s right.” Spike said quietly. “Wesley won’t accept it at first. Who could?”

“It’s not right. But it’s necessary.” Charles sighed. “Lord help us.”

Lorne made eye contact with me and shrugged helplessly.

It was wrong. It was so _wrong, _we should tell him, he had a right to know, a right to… I had a responsibility to take care of him, I was his best friend I couldn’t just…

I slumped in place. I turned back to Angel and nodded very slightly.

Angel stood and began to pace. “We engineer a situation whereby Sam is outside Wolfram & Hart, without Wesley. We’ll create an emergency at work, something that will tie him up for hours. We wait until she’s a good distance away from the building, at night. Spike can take the cash he got from _selling my damn Viper to an action film producer_ and buy a van. We roll up next to her, Charles driving, Spike and I grab her and hood her, then cuff her with some of those unbreakable chains. We get her to a warehouse, where Fred and Lorne will have set up a little interrogation area. All the information we need, fire hose, spotlights, those runes to keep us hidden… the works.”

“Maybe some pliers. Couple of rusty knives. Hot pokers.” Spike looked around the room, daring one of us to disagree. “She was planning to kill Fred.”

There was no dissent.

“We communicate the same way Fred got us all here, with notes, passed subtly.” Angel slid his own folder into the middle of the table. “None of us takes any of these folders out of the room, you need some information, you memorise it _now_. We take her the night after tomorrow. Any questions?”

“What are we going to do with her?” I swallowed. “Once we’re… done.”

“That…” Angel’s eyes glinted. “Will depend on how cooperative she is, how much she’s done to screw with us… and whether she definitely knew the Partners were going to kill you.”

Seemed fair.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

Sam zipped up her leather jacket - which was still that perfect little bit too snug for her - and I allowed my eyes to linger on her as she gave me a rakish grin. “Sure you’re not coming?” She pouted, toying with the zipper. “I’m gonna be all alone, and it’s _dark_ outside…”

“I think you’ll manage just fine.” I smiled, just about fighting down the impulse to pin her against the wall and unzip that jacket, then unbutton the blouse beneath it. “Considering you’ll be sitting in a well-lit car for the duration of the trip home.”

“But I’ll get lonely.” Sam pouted, leaning against the door languidly. She was unfairly attractive. “Home all alone, with nobody to keep my company. I might just have to amuse myself…”

“I think the book I gave you ten minutes ago should tide you over at least a few hours.” I smirked.

“Don’t want to read.” Sam licked her lips faux absent-mindedly. 

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. “Sam, if you keep this up, I’m not actually going to be able to _think _about work once you leave, and then I won’t be home for a very long time.”

“Sorry.” Sam smiled apologetically and moved back over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek.A smile flickered onto my face involuntarily at the warmth of her breath on my face, her lips pressed momentarily against my cheek. “I’m just giving you an incentive to get home quickly. There’ll be nice surprises waiting for you.”

  
“Surprises?” My mind began to race. I swallowed. “Plural?”

Sam fluttered her lashes, and blew me a kiss. “See you soon.” She closed the door behind her.

I groaned, deflating in my chair. Why had Angel decided now was the time to get paranoid about procurements from Ancient Relics? Nothing dangerous ever arrived for Ancient Relics. What were the Partners going to do, smuggle a magical bomb into their own building? 

Still. Angel had ordered me to do this, and do it alone, tonight. I blew out a breath, eyeing the vast stack of order forms and inventory lists. I had to check through all of it, then investigate anything suspicious. 

This would take hours. At least five.

I pictured Sam waiting for me. With pleasant surprises.

Surely I could manage it in two and a half.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“You sure Wesley is really gonna be occupied?” Lorne swallowed, glancing around the warehouse like he expected Wesley to drop through the ceiling at any moment, guns akimbo. “Don’t fancy incurring his wrath. Once was enough.”

“I’m sure.” I nodded, trying to banish an insistent ache in my arm and unpleasant memories of a harpoon. “I tampered with the Ancient Relics sheets a little bit in advance. Enough to keep him bouncing around for hours. But not enough to get him to call Angel and tell him something is fishy.” Wesley was smart, but it would take even him a few hours to catch on properly. That would be enough time.

“It’s already been thirty minutes.” Lorne muttered, checking his watch for the fifteenth time. “They should have been here ten minutes ago.”

“Could be traffic. We’re not at the cutoff time yet.” I swallowed, trying to forget Angel’s instructions for if he was more than twenty minutes late. I walked around our little spotlit area in a cleared section of the warehouse floor - complete with plastic sheeting on the floor, a chair bolted into the concrete, supplementary unbreakable chains, spotlights, a fire hose and the rest of Spike’s… implements. “Or maybe she stayed a bit later with Wesley. You… know how those two are.” I swallowed. God, I wish we’d just told him. He deserved to know, this was going to be awful for him, we shouldn’t have-

“Wesley will handle this.” Lorne interrupted my train of thought with a reassuring smile. “He’s tough. And he’s got us. And you. He can do this.”

“I really hope so.” I swallowed. I had an unshakeable bad feeling. Like everything was about to-

I heard a bang from behind me and spun around to see the person-sized warehouse door slam against the wall. Charles marched through, axe in hand, eyes sweeping the warehouse. Spike took up the rear, slamming the door shut and bolting it behind him. In the middle was Angel, a chained up, hooded, shaking figure gripped tightly in his arms. _Sam_.

“What was the holdup?” Lorne hissed to Charles as they arrived, while Angel and Spike slammed Sam down into the chair, and started cuffing her to it. “You were killing us here!”

“She took a damn car home instead of walking.” Charles whispered back. “We decided to wait, avoid witnesses.” I cursed quietly: that had eaten into our already limited time. We’d have to work fast, make sure that-

Angel and Spike clamped the last of the chains on, tested them, then gave us a thumbs up. I quickly passed everyone a copy of Sam’s folder, opening mine to my own personal note page. I clicked my pen into readiness and looked at Sam.

Credit where credit was due, if I didn’t know what I knew… I’d be convinced she was terrified. Shaking in place, struggling weakly against the - tightly wound - chains, letting out infrequent, soft whimpering noises… the very model of a terrified victim. I reminded myself of how easily she’d tricked Nina’s sister into thinking she was a broken wreck, and curled one hand into a fist: she was despicable. Utterly despicable.

Angel walked slowly, loudly, deliberately up to her, letting every footstep echo, the noise of the plastic underfoot obvious. He stood right in front of her and deliberately cracked his knuckles. The sound was near thunderous in the silence.

“Do… do you want money?” Sam whimpered, voice muffled through the hood, head casting around desperately, like she was trying to see us through the hood. Maybe she could, if the Partners had augmented her senses. I felt my skin crawl: who knew what she was capable of? “I have money, I can pay a ransom, _please_ don’t kill me, please please please!”

Angel let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to about her level. He spoke softly. “I don’t want money. Any of you guys want money?”

“I’m good.” Charles narrowed his eyes.

“Fine here.” Lorne added.

“Peach-y.” Spike said deliberately, moving closer to her.

“Sorry.” Angel sucked air in through his teeth and shrugged. “No takers for money.” He slammed both hands down loudly on the ends of the chair’s armrests.

I heard Sam let out a strangled sob, shaking like a leaf in the chair. My stomach twisted involuntarily: God, she was so _good_ at this. The ultimate spy. But we had her now. Dead to rights.

“I don’t know what I did.” Sam whispered, shrinking back into the chair. “I’m really really sorry, I swear, I won’t do it again, please-”

“You _know_ what you did, Sam!” Angel growled, stalking around to behind her, mouth near her ear as he yelled. “And so do we! So why don’t you cut the victim crap, because all it’s doing is _pissing me off_, and you’ve gone more than far enough down that road already.”

Sam let out a sob. I fought down my own misgivings, taking a deep breath. We all kept staring at her, resolute. “Oh god, you’re gonna kill me, please don’t kill me, please please please, I have so much to live for, please I love him, please don’t take me away from him…” How _dare_ she use Wesley as a shield, after what she’d done to him! She was _despicable._

“Oh, give. It. Up. Sam,” Angel snorted, nodding to Spike. The sound of the sword being unsheathed was purposefully loud, before Spike tossed it casually to Angel. A second later, the flat of the blade was carefully resting on one of her shoulders. “Although that’s not your _real_ name, is it… Still time to confess, Sam. You don’t have to make me any angrier.”

“Please let me say goodbye.” Sam made her voice break, and I resisted the urge to beat her for _daring_ to use Wesley, who she’d deceived and manipulated, like this. “I just want to say goodbye, I want to hear his voice one more time! He should know I _love_ him and I didn’t leave by choice, oh god, please, please _please_, just let me say goodbye….”

Angel sighed in the air of a disappointed father. “Well, there goes your chance. I already told you, we _know_ you’re lying. We have the proof. Your guilt isn’t in question… just your usefulness. You can stop the good-girl act, Sam. We know everything about you are. What you really are.”

Angel’s hand flashed out in a blur, ripped Sam’s hood off and tossed it away. Sam flinched away, blinking in the glare of the spotlights. Her eyes widened as she looked at all of us, arrayed before her in a crescent, uniform in our rage. She froze in place. “A… Angel? Spike? F… Fred? What did I d-” 

Spike snorted and slung the first bucket of cold water over her without hesitating. She spluttered, choking and coughing as she spat water onto the floor. Sam was instantly drenched, hair stuck to her head, shivering in the cold. I saw a tear slide down her cheek as she looked around desperately, like she was looking for something. Or someone. I saw her wrists strain against the chains and smirked: she probably just found out those were unbreakable. She wasn’t getting out of them, supreme strength or not.

“We know it’s all a lie, Samantha.” I stepped forwards, taking Angel’s place as we’d previously planned. He stepped back into the line, sword resting in one hand, gleaming in the light. I glared into her eyes, pushing down the sympathy my body kept yelling at me to feel. It was a trick. A lie. She was _built_ to deceive us, to inspire sympathy, to make people want to help her, to care about her… she made me sick. “We know what you really are.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam swallowed, shaking. “I… where’s Wesley? What _have you done to him?_”

“He’s not coming to help you, Sam.” I forced a chilling smile. “Why would he be, after all the evil you’ve done?”

“What? I’m not!” She insisted, weeping, tears flowing more freely now. “I’ve never… I mean I hurt that cyborg, but apart from that I’ve never hurt anyone, _please_, you have to-”

This was pointless. “You were going to kill me.” I announced, leaning in - but keeping a safe distance. “Once you’d slotted yourself nice and neatly into our little group, you were going to get rid of me. Make the Partners’ job that much easier, right?”

“No!” Sam shook her head desperately. Behind me, I heard Spike snort. I could practically feel the glares resting on Sam. She actually _wilted_ under them. “No, I wasn’t, I wouldn’t, why would I, you’re lovely, you’re nice and you’ve _abducted_ me and oh god, you’re going to kill me, why…”

I dramatically opened the folder and began to read aloud, slowly and clearly. “Reality Alteration, fifth July, two-thousand-and-three. Reference: SJ. Name: Samantha Jennings. Height, BMI, DNA profile… Memory implantation to take place to construct a convincing backstory: orphanage staff, residents, town-folk, teachers… I could go on, but let’s skip ahead, shall we?”

I turned the page. “Function: Saboteur. Primary goal: Replace Winifred Burkle. Secondary goals: Seduce Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Infiltration of Angel’s core team… fill void left by Winifred Burkle’s demise.”

“What… what are you talking about?” She made confused sound convincing.

“Samantha Jennings, date of creation: fifth July, two-thousand-and-three. Species: Artificial human type one. Physical creation: Undertaken directly by Senior Partners. Their blood used In the ritual to forge her physical form. NB: Sumerian coalescence powder also used.” I paused, glaring at Sam. “I took this file from Wolfram and Hart’s restricted archives, Sam. I’d say it’s pretty damning. But hey, even if I ignore this, shall we talk about the fact that your records are missing from _every_ single database Wolfram and Hart _didn’t_ know about? Or that everyone I asked about you said the _exact same things_ in response to my questions, once I got far enough? Or, hey, how about the fact your birth certificate looks a couple of decades old, but uses the modern format they _introduced a year ago_?”

“No!” Sam had gone white, shaking her head furiously, feverish terror in her eyes. Finally, we’d rattled her. She knew the game was up, now she was lashing out. “You’re… you’re _lying!_ That’s not-”

“You’re a _fake_!” I yelled. “Everything about you is fake! You’re a tool of evil, forged by the Partners themselves to make the world that little bit more evil! You were designed to lie to us, deceive us, _ruin _us! They modelled you on me so they could use you to _hurt Wesley_, and now we _know the truth_!”

“No I’m…” Sam was stammering now, eyes welling with tears. At the end of her rope. No more lies to throw at us. “I’m not! I’m a person! I have a life, I have friends, I remember everything!”

“Like standing up to a bully on a playground?” I taunted, reading from the folder. “Stood up for bullied child, sacrificing her glasses in place of his. Meant to inspire sorrow and sympathy in Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”

Sam opened and shit her mouth wordlessly, eyes wide. She didn’t fool me. I launched into another memory, making the most of her temporary slip. “Or how about your 'first memory’, hmm? Bashing your leg on a crib? Crying for hours, all alone, and nobody coming? To inspire feelings of guilt and sympathy in the orphanage staff! Everything about you is a lie, designed to make people feel sorry for you, so you could infect this world, you _disgusting parasite!”_

“No!” Sam screamed and shook her head, eyes closing, twisting away from me, like she could hide from the evidence I had against her. Oh, please. Amateur dramatics now? “I’m… I’m a _person._”

Pfft. As if. I bent down until I was at eye level. “Sam, look at me.” I said gently. She opened her eyes, looking at me, fake terror shining there. She really was a marvellous actor. I spoke softly, slowly. “You. Are. A. _Monster_.” Sam let out a wail, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing loudly.

“Oh, give me a break.” I shook my head, turning to face the others. “Spike, maybe you should-”

I blinked. They didn’t look angry. They all looked… horrified. Shocked… ashamed? Why did they look ashamed? My stomach began to descend into the floor. “Spike…”

“Fred.” Lorne said quietly. “I don’t think she-” 

“NO!” I shook my head, cutting him off. “No no no! She knew! She’s a spy, she’s evil! You’ve seen the file, she’s designed to deceive us, you can’t believe-”

“Does it say anywhere in there that she knew?” Charles swallowed. “Because I’m wracking my brains and I… I can’t seem to…”

“She just smells so… so…” Angel trailed off.

“Terrified.” Spike whispered. “And ashamed.”

“No!” I shook my head. It couldn’t… she couldn’t… Cordy had said… Cordy had sent me to-

“Maybe the reason I never saw she was evil…” Lorne whispered. “Maybe they didn’t block me, maybe she’s-”

I heard the sound of breaking glass and looked up to see commandoes rolling through windows, a forest of laser dots appearing on our chests as guns cocked, a dozen muffled yells of ‘freeze’ and other orders, drowning each other out…

The sound of an explosion behind me, of the door to the warehouse being blown off its hinges, more soldiers rushing in, but _that_ sound drowned out too, somehow, by the quiet, ragged, _desperate_ weeping of Samantha Jennings.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say anything.

Not as I saw Wesley rushing across the warehouse, sparing no glance for any of us, dropping to his knees in front of Sam, thumbs coming up to brush her cheeks, wipe away her tears, as she recoiled from him, crying more loudly.

“Sam, Sam, my love I’m here, you’re okay…” Wesley murmured soothingly. “You’re going to be okay, I’m here, I’m right here,”

“NO!” Sam screamed, jerking back. “Get away from me! You have to get away! I’m a monster, I’ll hurt you, ask them! They’ll tell you! I’m not a person, I’m a monster, I’ll hurt you, I’m a lie, I’m a trap! Look at the file! Wolfram and Hart created me, I’m a monster, I’m evil, I’m not real… _I’m not real!_”

Wesley pulled her head tight against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against him. “You’re real to me.” He whispered, voice breaking.

Sam’s head slowly lifted up to look at him. Her impossibly tiny, hopeful smile was heart-wrenching.

Sam screamed, entire body arching, tensing in agony. She howled like she was being torn limb from limb, head shaking from side to side, thrashing against her restraints. “Sam! Sam!” Wesley’s eyes ran over her swiftly, desperately, before he spun to glare at us, cold fury in his eyes. “What did you do?! _Stop it!_”

“We didn’t do anything!” I rushed over to examine her, to figure out what had happened, but Wesley’s arm shot out to hold me back. My stomach twisted. “Wesley, I _swear-_”

Sam stopped thrashing. She was just shaking slightly in place, eyes closed, covered in a cold sweat. “It wasn’t them, Wes.”

“But… then… are you…” He cupped her face. “What…”

“It was the Senior Partners.” Sam whispered, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “They’re angry with me, Wesley. They’re so, _so_, angry. Their voices… like an _earthquake_ in my head, like fire, they… they said…” Her voice broke.

“What did they say?” Wesley whispered. “Are you alright?”

“They said I was useless, that I’d been a _waste_ of their resources, a waste of their _blood_ and they said…” Sam swallowed. “That I had better start being useful. Or they… or they’d… that… what was given _would be taken away_.”

“No…” Wesley whispered. “They’d…”

“Their blood.” Sam sagged in the chair, voice no more than a whisper. “My life.”

I collapsed to the floor, my whole body flooded with ice, screaming inside my head.

What had I done?

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I did my best to remain calm. To be strong for her. I called a cab to take us home, because I was _not_ putting Sam in one of their cars. I held her in the backseat, stroking her gently, reminding her every moment that nothing had changed, that nothing would change, that I still loved her. I rocked her when she cried. I walked her inside. I put her to bed with a kiss on the forehead, and begged her to sleep. I held her when she cried out suddenly, begging me to come back, tears in her eyes. I listened carefully to the words rushing out of her mouth, noting down everything she said as she stammered and sobbed her way through a message that wasn’t hers, through words _forced_ into her brain alongside skull-splitting agony by the monsters I’d signed my life away to, monsters who - for unfathomable reasons of their own - had created someone _perfect _and deserving of so much better… 

I stayed with her until she fell asleep.

I closed the door behind me and murmured a spell: a one-way silence charm. Sam wouldn’t have to hear what happened out here, wouldn’t be disturbed. I walked back to my apartment door and tore it open. Outside stood my friends. My friends who hadn’t trusted me. Who’d _known_, for God knows how long, and…

“Inside. Now.” I retrieved two chairs from the table and placed them in the central seating area, sitting down opposite them. I looked them over: each looking guilty, to a fault. Fred most of all. So she’d been the one who figured it out. Who followed the thread. _That_ was why she’d been acting odd, why she’d been away so much, so careful never to say anything, looked so shocked - and to think I’d thought myself insane for believing for a moment that she’d looked horrified - to find out Sam was moving in with me.

“You’d better start talking.” I spoke quietly, carefully controlling my temper. Anger wouldn’t help anyone. Even if it would feel _marvellous._ It wouldn’t help her. “And there’d better be a damn good explanation involved.”

Fred leaned forwards and gently put a bulging folder down on the table. “Read it.” She said quietly, turning away.

I looked at it for a moment. A reality alteration file. I already knew what would be in there. “No.” 

“Wesley,” Gunn coughed. “You do understand that she’s-”

“Yes it became rather obvious what had happened when she started _screaming_ because the Partners tore open her mind and started to place their messages in there.” I looked at them witheringly. “Sam was created by the Senior Partners. I don’t need to read that folder… to _pick_ through her intimate secrets, her every important memory, to know that. Give me the relevant information.”

“She’s an artificial human.” Fred spoke softly, making eye contact. “Type 1, whatever that means. Forged with the blood of the Senior Partners and-”

“Sumerian Coalescence Powder.” I finished. Fred looked taken aback. Oh, she didn’t know what it did. Of course that… made sense. “It’s a magical ingredient… used to forge a new soul.” I explained.

Fred looked at her feet. The others followed suit. “Which means that if you’d come to _me_ and told _me_ about this, I could have told you that Sam has a soul, and didn’t know anything about this…” I tapped my foot on the floor. “Instead you decided to keep me in the dark, kidnap her, and _torture_ her.”

“We thought she was evil.” Spike looked me in the eye. “Because in that document you’re too high and mighty to read, there’s a list of her objectives. Among which included seducing you, infiltrating our team, and replacing the void _left by Fred’s death._”

My blood ran cold. “Oh.” Objectives that Sam hadn’t known about, but which the Partners had intended her to pursue without the need for prompting, which meant that she hadn’t-

“Wesley,” Angel interrupted my train of thought, shifting uncomfortably. “If it was you, in our position, and you knew that me or Gunn or Fred had fallen for an infiltrator, a spy who you thought was meant to kill another one of us… would you have told them? Or would you have grabbed the spy first to minimise the risk?”

My gut twisted uncomfortably. “Because the last time _I_ took unilateral action we all agreed it was the best idea.” I pointed out. Not that it mattered: he was right. I would never have advocated for telling any of them…

Except, perhaps, Fred.

“It was my call not to tell you.” Angel looked at me calmly. “If you want to hate someone for it, hate me, not them.” 

There was a long, deep silence. Fred swallowed and shifted in her seat. Lorne closed his eyes and slumped in place, one hand over his eyes. Gunn folded his arms and looked at me expectantly. Angel and Spike remained perfectly still. I collected my thoughts.

“So, the Senior Partners altered reality.” I said slowly. “Presumably between when we agreed to take over the firm, and the morning after.”

“About a minute after we agreed to their terms, precisely.” Fred nodded. “The alteration was taken care of by someone… a ‘C. Vail’?”

“Cyvus Vail.” I grimaced. Of course. “Powerful demon warlock, runs an empire with connections across LA. He implanted Sam’s memories?”

“Yeah. Senior Partners made the body and… and soul, he put a mind in it.” Fred explained. “There’s a… a DNA profile, detailed breakdown of each physical or personality trait she’s got and why, and… yeah. They were thorough.”

“And what drove you to start investigating?” I pressed.

“Cordy. It was the last thing she said to me before she…” Fred swallowed. “She told me not to trust Sam. That she was a little too… perfect for anyone working at Wolfram and Hart. Pushed me to investigate her.”

So that was why Cordy had been interrogating me about Sam. I thought she’d just been making sure we weren’t dealing with another Lilah, but apparently not. I’d failed to take her hints. So she’d gone to the only person smart enough to work the problem. The only person meticulous and dedicated enough to identify an alteration in the fabric of reality itself, from practically nothing…

“You were looking out for me?” I questioned, voice soft. 

Fred nodded slowly, eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “Yes, I… Wes I am so, _so_ sorry that it turned out like this, I _never_ meant… I wanted to tell you, but-”

“I understand.” I cut her off, inclining my head. “Thank you.” Fred held my gaze for a second, then turned away, rubbing at one eye. God, she always took care of me. I didn’t deserve a friend like her.

My own eyes were feeling a little raw too, as a matter of fact. “So that explains your work absences?”

“Yeah.” Fred nodded quickly, apparently as eager as I was to move on. “Trips to Texas and Massachusetts to investigate her past. Some missing documents, recurring phrases, odd coincidences, things that didn’t add up… and then after a lot of reading up on reality shifts, I went into Files & Records, where I found the file on the shift and… well. Here we are.”

“Indeed.” I said quietly. “So you got back, armed with this new knowledge, to find out that we were moving in together, and she was attending our meetings. Naturally, you fear with her other tasks near completion, that she might be about to… to…”

“A little.” Fred swallowed. “But I was… more worried about you. What it would do to you, to find out that she was… that she didn’t-” Fred broke off abruptly, wiping her eyes. Spike gently wrapped one arm around her shoulders. At least I knew Spike wasn’t responsible for Fred’s melancholy now. It had been her genius mind, spotting that something was _wrong_ with the picture, but not being able to work out what. A low-level alarm whining insistently in the back of her head, for all these months.

“Thank you.” I said quietly. “That means… thank you.”

A brief moment of silence. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“She’s apparently got super strength.” Lorne spoke quietly. “And durability.”

“_That’s_ what that bastard Pavayne meant!” Spike let out a sudden roar, bashing the coffee table hard enough to dent it. “Smug bastard mocked me about it when I was still a ghost, after he attacked her. Told me she wasn’t fragile like… most people, that he couldn’t kill her, and that even if he could the consequences would have been ‘infernal’.”

“She likely isn’t aware of her own strength.” I sighed. “At least, she’s never exhibited any. I doubt it’ll kick in unless she’s in a life-or-death situation. And, speaking of infernal consequences…”

I retrieved the notepad from my pocket and cleared my throat. “This message is from the Partners. Sam relayed it to me after they forced it into her… They said: ‘Nothing has changed.’”

A short, jagged silence cut the air.

“They… they made her _scream_ like that… for a three-word message?” Lorne whispered.

“I gather the first time she screamed was them… _venting._ They hadn’t expected her to ever be uncovered. So they took it out on her.” 

“Christ.” Angel muttered. “What do they even mean… nothing has changed?”

“It means they expect us to keep working.” Spike swore under his breath. “Ruthless bastards. You find out they put a Manchurian candidate in your midst, had them… and then they just tell you to go back to your desks and meet those deadlines.”

“We knew they were spying on us anyway, what’s the difference?” I sighed, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead.

“What’s the difference? Wes, what they did to you…” Fred shook her head vehemently. “It’s unacceptable. I say we hand in our notices and leave, _now_.”

“I’m leaning that way as well.” Gunn nodded firmly. “Nobody messes with my friends. Not just Wes, let’s not forget whatever they had planned for Fred.” There was a murmur of assent.

“I can’t.” I slumped in my chair, waiting for it to sink in for them.

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” Angel frowned. “Wesley, the resources, the everything… they’re not worth-”

“Sam can’t leave.” I looked up, fixing him with a stare. “She is of their blood. They can reach into her brain whenever they want. See through her eyes, hear through her ears, peruse her memories, inflict _unimaginable agony_ on her with a thought. And do you really think they’re going to let her walk away?”

“She’s their property.” Fred, of course, was the first to get it. “Oh… God.”

“They won’t let her leave.” I grimaced. “Which means I never can either. The moment I do… they’ll send her away. To serve them in a hell dimension. Perhaps to torture her until she breaks. Maybe they’ll figure out a way take her soul from her. Or perhaps they’ll… recoup their investment. Liquidate the asset.”

A long moment of dull emptiness.

“Every time.” Angel said quietly. “Every time I think those _bastards_ have stooped as low as they can… they find a fresh hell beneath the old one.”

“This one is of our own making.” I pointed out. “None of you have to stay.” I looked around the group. “Don’t feel for a second you have to.”

“We won’t leave you.” Fred said immediately.

“Think carefully.” I warned her. “I’m going to be stuck at Wolfram and Hart for the rest of my mortal days. I won’t wish the same fate on any of you.”

“Nobody’s leaving you.” Angel clenched his fists. “Not until we figure out a way to get Sam out of their clutches.”

“Amen.” Gunn nodded, cracking his knuckles. “Every contract has a loophole. We just have to find hers, and-”

“There is no contract.” I spat, pointing out the bloody obvious. “If they implanted a memory of her signing one, it would be useless. The contract she remembers signing when she ‘joined’ Wolfram and Hart doesn’t exist. So obviously, they don’t need one to do whatever the hell they want to her.”

“We can go to Vail.” Spike glowered. “Rough him up, get him to spill the beans, find a weakness.”  
I barked a short laugh. “Rough up _Cyvus Vail?_ Please. You’d need Willow, who isn’t on speaking terms with us, and even then, I wouldn’t bet too heavily on her.”

“We’ll figure out something. We’re not leaving you behind.” Fred reached out and squeezed my hand. I could only blink, shocked. “I promise.”

I nodded once. “I… thank you.” I allowed myself to hope for a moment. Until the grim reality wormed its way inexorably back into my mind: Sam was bound to the Partners, Cyvus Vail was our only lead and utterly unassailable, and my friends-

“I think that’s a tomorrow problem.” Lorne sighed. “I think right now, we all need sleep.”

Pure exhaustion swept over me. “Yes. That would be best.” I nodded. 

Everyone began to file out. Only Angel and Fred were left next to me, Spike loitering in the doorway. Angel shifted from foot to foot. “Wesley,”

“I know Sam can’t come in to work tomorrow.” I saved him the trouble of saying it. “And I’ll do my best. But that means me staying home if she needs me. And if the Partners start torturing her and ordering her to participate, it means she goes in to work. Clear?”

“Clear.” Angel nodded, and left.

“Wes…” Fred swallowed. “If… if there is _anything_ you need, anything I can do, then-”

“Get some rest.” I smiled at her encouragingly. “Go. But thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fred nodded firmly.

“I might not be coming in.” I reminded her.

“Doesn’t matter.” Fred’s hand found its way to my shoulder, and she squeezed me gently. It was impossibly reassuring.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t say any more. I knew my voice would break if I did.

Fred smiled at me one last time, eyes scanning me as she did, making sure she was alright to leave, face full of concern. As she left, she glanced back at me several times.

I just about managed to close the door behind her before my legs gave out beneath me, I slumped head first against the door, and began to weep.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

My gut twisted. I blinked twice, felt dampness coat my eyes. Blinked twice more.

The tears came. Of all the sounds in the world…

Why did I have to hear Wesley cry?

It was awful. Heartbreaking. The quiet sobs. I could tell they were wracking his body. But he was trying to keep them quiet, contained, so nobody else could hear them.

I trembled for a moment, covered my mouth with one hand to keep my own sob from escaping, and rested my head against the door.

My fault.

All my fault.

Wesley was miserable, _again_, and it was all my fault.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. My throat was raw. It ached to say the words. Raw pain in my throat. Raw eyes. Shaking body.

But the real pain was in my chest. Somewhere deep, and central, and never-going-away.

“I’m so so sorry.” I whimpered, eyes closing. But that wouldn’t make the pain go away. Nothing I could do would help him. All I ever did was hurt him.

I refused to leave. I listened to every one of Wesley’s sobs. Contemplated comforting him a thousand times, but knew I’d only make things worse. So I let the sounds hurt me. Let his pain become mine. Clenched my eyes closed, let the tears roll freely, hurled every insult I could muster into myself, and raged against my very being. 

The pain was sharp. 

It felt right.

I _deserved_ it.


	11. Emancipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyvus Vail offers his services. At great cost.

**Wesley**

“Good morning, sleepy-head.” I smiled at Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to enter the room, or just try and extend your head in as far as you can while keeping the rest of your body in the bedroom?”  
Sam smiled weakly. “Wes-”

“I can bring the plate over if you like. You can stay right where you-”

“Shush and keep cooking.” Sam began picking her way across the apartment. I smiled wryly and flipped the pancake in the pan. _And_ I managed not to stick it to the ceiling. 

Sam’s face pressed into my back and her arms moved to wrap around me. I swivelled to face her, drawing her into a tight hug and kissing the top of her head. “How did you sleep?”

“Average.” Sam sighed against me. “Pancakes. My favourite.”

“I thought today might not just be a toast day.” I offered. 

Sam looked at the pancakes a long moment.

“Why do you think the Partners made pancakes my favourite food?” Sam asked quietly, eyes fixed on the pan.

I drew back ever so slightly, cupping her chin and looking into her eyes. “Why do _you_ like them?”

“Because the Partners wanted me to like them.” Sam said morosely, shifting to make eye contact.

“What about them is it that you like?” I prodded.

“They’re just amazing. And they go well with fruit and syrup.”

“Then that’s why you like them.”

“But it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” I sighed, then reached up and tugged not-so-gently on a strand of Sam’s hair.

“Ow!” She looked at me with such _hurt_ I felt my stomach twist. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to do it.” I lied. Sam’s hand shot out and yanked on my hair very-not-gently. “Did the Partners want you to do that?” I demanded.

Sam looked taken aback. “Maybe, I-”

“You think they assembled a set of memories such that if you decided to ask that question, and received that exact response, you would decide to pull my hair back?”

“No, but-”

“Do you think they’ve checked every menu in every restaurant in the world, and assigned a meal choice for each one of them on your first, second, and third visits?”

“Obviously not, but-”

“_They don’t control who you are_.” I interrupted her gently, stroking her cheek with one thumb. “They can’t, not even them. _You_ decide every day, what it is you want to be, who you want to be. We are more than just memories. And every day I’ve known you, you’ve chosen to be kind. And good. And a great deal more humane than most of the people I’ve met.”

“I didn’t choose to be good.” Sam looked at me stonily. “They gave me memories and experiences that would naturally predispose me towards being a good person. That wasn’t my choice.”

“By that logic, there’s nothing you can ever do that’s your own.” I pointed out. “Which brings us back to the hair-pulling and meal-choosing dilemma.”

“Even if we move past that, I…” Sam swallowed. “I’m not… not _human_.”

“I count four limbs, one head, and one functioning central nervous system.” 

“It’s not the same, I… I wasn’t _born_.” Sam shook her head firmly. “I’m a science project. A little wind-up toy the Partners put on Earth just to mess with Angel’s plans. I’m not authentic, I’m just a…”

“You have a soul.” I placed one of hands over Sam’s heart. “You have a beautiful, brilliant mind. And, try as you might, you’re not _quite_ perfect. I think that’s the criteria for humanity sorted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam frowned. “What’s wrong with m-”

“You’re far too easy to wind up.” I kissed her nose.

“I love you.” Sam closed her eyes and rested her head on my chest, sighing.

I hugged her tightly. “I love you too. You jailbait, you.”  
“Excuse me?” Sam’s head shot back up, gaze disbelieving. “You did not just call me-”  
“You are underage.” I grinned. “Technically.”

All in all, she could have smacked me a lot harder.

That didn’t make my face sting any less when I was tucking into the pancakes. “I didn’t believe you really were a superhero until that moment.” I rubbed my cheek thoughtfully.

Sam snorted. “I’m not a superhero.”

“You hit like one.”

“Shut up.” Sam grinned at me, then frowned. “And stop making me feel better. It’s annoying.”

“You’re being very annoying.” I smiled playfully.

“Said the English guy.” Sam kicked me under the table.

“Said the illegal immigrant from another dimension.” I kicked back.

“You gonna report me to DHS?” Sam grinned.

“If you keep smiling like that, I couldn’t bring myself to.” I shrugged. Sam rolled her eyes.

I was halfway through my next bite when Sam asked the question I’d been dreading. “I’m not going with you to work today, am I?”

I leaned forwards to take one of her hands in mine, squeezing it gently. “I can stay home.” I squeezed again.

Sam smiled indulgently and shook her head, sighing. “For how long?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I own this apartment. I’m sure Angel would pay me enough to get by even if I stopped coming in, so… round the nine, cancel the two… as long as you need me.”

“You can’t.” Sam shook her head firmly. “You have to go do your thing.”

“My thing?” I smiled.

“Yeah. You gotta go be Book Man.” Sam squeezed my hand this time.

“That’s _our_ thing.” I said quietly.

“It still can be. But not at work.” Sam blinked and looked away, taking a deep breath. “You have to go save lives. And the world. And help your friends. I can’t help you with that anymore. Not when the Partners… not since they can _see_…” Sam trailed off. See through her eyes. Hear through her ears. Perhaps even read her thoughts. 

It was _sickening_.

“I’d stay if you asked me.” I rested my forehead on hers. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” Sam smiled sadly. “Which is why I _can’t_ ask you to.”

“You remember when we were talking about you choosing to be a good person?” I kissed her cheek. “You managed it again.”

Sam laughed. “Anyone would do the same.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” I shook my head.

Sam’s eyes softened, free hand moving up to rub my cheek. I suppressed a shiver. “You would.”

“As if.” I chuckled. Sam raised an eyebrow. “If you were offering to stay home with me as long as I wanted, I’d be far too selfish to refuse you.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrow climbed a little higher.

“Most definitely.” I smiled. “We could stay together on the sofa. Reading books, and watching old black-and-white movies…”

“We could order in food…” Sam sighed wistfully. “Devote a whole day to just… to just being…”

“…Us.” I pressed a swift kiss to her lips.

“Yes.” Sam smiled, eyes sparkling. “_Us._” The next kiss was much longer.

“I’m going to find a way to help.” I whispered. “I’m going to find a way to stop them doing that to you, whatever it takes. I promise.”

“Promise you’ll _try_.” Sam admonished me. “That’s what I care about, Wes.”

I sighed. “I promise I’ll try.”

“Good.” Sam smiled and rubbed her nose against mine. “Go get ‘em Book Man.”

I swallowed. “Sam, I… before I go… there’s a folder on the coffee table…”

Sam stiffened. “Is it… _my_ folder?”

“The one pertaining to you, yes.” I hesitated. “I haven’t read it.”

“What?” Sam jerked back, frowning. “Are you stupid?”

“Pardon?” I blinked.

“There might be something important in there!” Sam hissed. “Something about me you need to watch out for, or-”

“If there was, Angel or Fred would have told me.” I shrugged. “I refuse to read it. To… invade your life like that. But if you want to read it, it’s there.”

“I don’t think I want to read it.” Sam swallowed, staring at it, chewing at her lower lip.

“Then that’s fine.” I smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Here’s our guy.” Lorne pushed a button on the projector and the photo projected onto the wall of the conference room. A familiar demon with wine-red skin, crusty eyes, and yellowy stringy hair. “Cyvus Vail. Powerful warlock. Heads up a demon empire, influence all through LA.”

“Emphasis on _powerful._” I steepled my fingers, scanning the photo. “And if the Partners trusted him with their… project, then he must be loyal to them.”

“What’s our plan?” Spike looked around. “Since you said roughing him up was out of the question.” He had the gall to sound _bitter_ about my dismissal of a plan that would have seen him burned to a crisp, _again_.

“I’ve set up a meeting with Vail.” Angel narrowed his eyes. “And I’m not thrilled about how eager he seemed to talk.”

“Guess he knows the jig’s up, so there’s no reason to be coy.” Fred frowned thoughtfully. “Partners must have told him. I mean even if they didn’t, half the office knows by now, so…” She trailed off.

“We can’t all go.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “He’ll think we’re a death squad.”

“You’re right.” Angel leaned forward. “Wes… you’re not going.”

I blinked. “Pardon?”

There was a gaping silence. The others developed a sudden interest in the surface of the table.

“You’re not exactly objective.” Lorne said slowly, making eye contact. “Vail’s a smart customer. He’ll be under your skin in a flash and… well… if I was in your shoes, I definitely couldn’t stay calm.”

“I’m still the only one here who knows anything about the mystical.” I countered, fighting down the rational part of me pointing out that Lorne had double tapped the nail on the head. “You’ll need me there to keep an eye on him.

“Actually, that’s why I need you right here.” Angel inclined his head. “Fred?”

“I have a case. Got to my desk this morning.” Fred opened the folder she’d brought in with her (so _that_ was why she’d been the only one to bring a folder, I had wondered) and began shuffling some papers out onto the table. “A mini epidemic. My operating theory is that it’s mystical, so I’m hoping to draft your help.”

“Are you sure it’s mystical?” I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sinking sensation as the iron-cast cuffs of responsibility locked into place around me. I wasn’t going to see Vail, to confront him, to demand to know _why_ he…

Why he’d made Sam so _unhappy_. Why had they given Sam a miserable childhood? Why not loving parents, a group of close friends… for the hell of it? There was nothing I wanted better than to slam him into a wall and demand answers.

So I couldn’t go.

“Pretty sure.” Fred put a photo down on the desk. My gut twisted: a child lying in a hospital bed, face twisted into an unholy grin. “They’re all children. Eleven of them, comatose.”

I looked back to Angel. “We’ll get right on it.”

Lorne let out a sigh of relief. Angel nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “Good, good, that’s… great. I’m going to meet Vail. Gunn and Spike with me. Lorne, you know what you’re doing.”

A few seconds later, they’d all filed out. Just Fred and I left.

“What’s your read?” I asked her. She must have an operating theory.

“All the kids collapsed at the same time, all in front of the TV.” Fred pulled out a brochure and passed it to me. “Show was ‘Smile Time’. Lorne’s headed there right now to interrogate the show-runner, Framkin.”

“Well, if it’s a TV show the magic must be in the broadcast.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “Layered in somehow, disguised.”

“Okay, so, how do we find it?” Fred looked at me attentively.

“Nothing to do but run some spectral analyses on the show and watch some footage.” I stood up, gathering some of Fred’s papers for her. “You get working on the spectral analysis, I’ll grab Sam and we’ll…” I trailed off, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, fighting down the terrible _ache_ in my chest.

“Why don’t I have one of my techs run the analysis and we can check the broadcast?” Fred suggested quietly, one hand moving up to rest on my shoulder.

“Sounds good.” I nodded. There was a pregnant pause. Fred’s eyes searched mine. “I don’t blame you, Fred.”

She looked away. “I think you should.”

“Better the bitterest truth than the sweetest lie.”

“Do you have a quote for everything?” The tiniest smile threatened to break out.

“I always have a quotation for everything. It saves original thinking.” I said automatically.

“Dorothy Sayers?” Fred was smiling now.

“Guilty.” I shrugged. Fred’s hand fell off my shoulder. I felt its absence keenly. “You meant to expose a spy who was manipulating me. You had every reason to believe that was the case. Blaming you for trying to help me would be like… like blaming a tomato for changing from green to red. Helping’s in your nature.”

“And yours.”

“That sounds tenuous.”

“Says the man helping me save kids from a mystical plague.”

“Fair point.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Spike**

“Lots of demon guards for a guy who wants to talk.” I pointed out, cracking my knuckles and playing with the car door handle. “Maybe we’re the ones who need to worry about a death squad.”

“Vail could kill us on his own with his mind if he wanted to.” Lawyer-boy pointed out, face set in a grimace. “If anything, he’d want to have less guards around so we weren’t on edge.”

“God, you’re cheerful.” I muttered. I couldn’t believe I was starting to miss Harris.

“Okay, listen up you two.” Angel swivelled in his seat to look at the both of us. “Here’s the plan-”

“Wait, you came up with the plan?” I held up both hands and raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”

“Yeah.” Angel frowned. “So?”

“So, no _poxing_ way am I walking into the gaudy mansion of the most powerful demon warlock in the bloody continental United States based on _your_ plan.” I folded my arms. “Let somebody with the brains do that.”

“Someone like you?” Angel scowled, folding his own arms.

“No, you dipshit.” I huffed, jerking a thumb at the backseat. “The lawyer, actually. Master of deception and negotiation? Cunning bastard? Makes the suit look a lot sharper than you do?”

  
Gunn looked surprisingly conflicted for someone I’d so unambiguously complimented. Angel scowled even more (he was so easy). “Fine. Gunn, what do you think?”

“Vail wants something from us.” Gunn began, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window. “But whatever it is, it won’t be small. If it was small, he could do it himself. So he needs us to do something for him. And in exchange, he’ll offer to share information about Sam.”

“So, how do we get him to spill the beans?” I grinned.

“We cooperate.”

My face fell. I _hated_ cooperation.

Angel frowned. “Are you sure we should cooperate with Vail?”

I spun to face him. “Of course we should bloody cooperate with Vail! Did you miss the part where this guy is on Red’s level of power? If he knows something about Sam, I say you leverage your _fantastic ‘resources’_ and bloody well get the demon what he wants so we can all sleep a little easier. This is potentially Fred’s life on the line if that file was anything to go by. Pull your head out of your arse, Angel.”

“As I was saying.” Gunn spoke up, jaw tight. “We’ll have to give him what he wants to hear the full story. But we should get him to hand over some tidbits as proof he knows something. And it has the added benefit of letting us cover ourselves.”

“I… guess that makes sense. Sort of.” Angel nodded.

“It’s a good as plan as any.” I clapped Angel on the shoulder. “Now, shall we get out of this car or what?”

“I think Spike should stay.” Angel looked at Gunn. “Spike should stay here, right?”

Gunn chuckled. I didn’t. I opened the car door harder than was necessary, stepped out into the garage, and slammed it twice as hard as was necessary. I hooked my thumbs into my pockets and whistled cheerily, waltzing over to the nearest demon. I appraised it. “God, you’re one ugly bastard.” I grinned, then spread my arms wide. “Take us to your leader! Old bloke, going bald, horrible nose?” The demon clearly didn’t have a sense of humour because it just grunted and led us into the mansion.

“Spike, let me do the talking in there.” Gunn hissed. I rolled my eyes and nodded: none of these people knew how to have any fun. Except Fred. Possibly Lorne. And Sam.

Poor thing. Those bastards had really done a number on her. Including this Vail bloke. He was gonna tell us everything he knew. So that we knew for sure that Sam wasn’t going to go Manchurian candidate on us, and that Fred wasn’t going to end up hurt. Once we knew for definite that Sam didn’t have some kind of ticking time bomb strapped to her insides and that Fred was no longer in the Partner’s crosshairs… then we could start thinking about what to do next.

The demon without a sense of humour pushed open a set of double doors, stiffly moving to the side and gesturing for us to enter the room. Gunn walked in first. I followed, looking around. I snorted. 

That settled it: Warlocks _did_ always have terrible taste. In everything. Red and white chequered floor? Check. Wood panelling that looked like it was from my time as a human? Check. Weird gas lamp fixtures on the wall? Check. Incredibly poncy looking carved wooden chair with leather cushioning? Check. Loud, hissing, life support machine totally at odds with the Feng Shui? Check. Strange, ominous wooden cabinet? Check.

And the warlock himself was wearing a bloody tartan dressing gown. I looked at him disbelievingly: He was certainly _ugly_ enough to be a powerful demon warlock but… a dressing gown? Really? This was the Partners’ go-to Warlock? Bloody disgraceful. 

And then, of course, the huge muscle-bound demon thugs flanking him weren’t exactly stylish either.

“Angel. Spike. Mr Gunn.” Vail wheezed, voice raspy as sandpaper, a lecherous smile creeping onto his face. “Good morning. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to three chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of him (but which regrettably put him out of throttling reach).

“I’m invoking the Ash’lork’hon negotiation rituals.” Gunn spoke up immediately. “On behalf of myself, my clan leader, and our servant. Before talks begin, I would like to be provided with the ceremonial rings of protection, and for you to wear the ceremonial host ring.” He’d better be bloody careful what he went on about, because if he called me servant one more time, I was going to throttle him once I knew Fred was safe.

“I rather thought you might.” Vail smirked, gesturing. One guard stepped forwards, presenting us with a small tray: on it sat three black onyx rings.

“Putting on the ring places us officially under his protection.” Gunn muttered, reaching out to grip one. “It means that entering into the negotiations, neither side can harm the other. It also guarantees honesty: anyone attempting to deceive anyone else will be destroyed. Including Vail.”

Well, if it meant I wouldn’t be disintegrated, and that Vail would be disintegrated if he crossed us, I suppose I could put on some bling. However - surprise, surprise - tasteless it might be. I pulled on the ring and sat down in the centre chair, folding my arms. Angel and Gunn sat down on either side of me. _Servant_. That bloody showed them. 

“I hear that you’ve had a very… interesting weekend.” Vail chuckled, raising an eyebrow and pulling a chunky silver ring onto one gnarled finger. “I assume that’s why you contacted me?”

“If you mean that we found the spy the Partners inserted into our midst, then yes.” Gunn said softly.

“Spy is such a harsh word, hmm?” Vail smirked. “More like a patsy. An unwitting pawn. Which is, of course, the best kind.”

“If she is unwitting.”

“I rather thought the file would be clear on that front.” Vail shrugged nonchalantly.  
“It isn’t.”

“Oh, such a shame.” Vail shook his head sadly. “A _tragic_ administrative oversight, I’m sure.”

“You created her memories.” Gunn sat forwards in his chair.

“That’s correct.” Vail smiled wistfully, sitting back in his own chair. “My finest work, I must confess. So many intricate little personality details to create. It’s not easy, you know. Designing an entire life, _specifically_ to create a certain character of individual? The bullying to make her lonely and compassionate, long hours in libraries to build up erudition… a thousand little scenes, meaningless individually, but together? Enough to build an interesting character. Tell me… did it all go as planned?” Vail raised an eyebrow.

“As planned?” Gunn raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, her personality of course.” Vail’s eyes gleamed. “Is she intelligent, but lacking in self-confidence? Compassionate, but awkward and isolated? Sweet, cute, and prone to babbling? Did she fall in love with Mr Wyndam-Pryce at almost first sight? Come, spare no detail.”

Anger built up behind my eyes, making my temples throb. This _bastard._ Talking so casually, amusedly, about giving Sam a miserable childhood and manipulating her entire life.

“It all went to plan.” Gunn said, without inflection.

“I knew it.” Vail sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair. “I knew I was the best. The Partners were sceptical at first. Not sure it could be done. That it would be possible to create someone so pure, so similar to your scientifically inclined comrade, but who could still be useful to us. But I made her capable of - destined to, even - winning the heart of Mr Wyndam-Pryce. Making her unable to leave keeps him there. And then, the Partners’ ability to plant ideas and thoughts in the back of her head, to hear through her ears, see through her eyes, subtly influence decisions… most useful indeed.”

Vail’s smirk widened. “I do hope Mr Wyndam-Pryce appreciates my efforts. How many people can say they had their dream partner constructed to their specifications?”

“Wesley didn’t ask for this.” Gunn almost spat.

“I know. All the benefits, none of the guilt. _Very_ lucky for him.” Vail shrugged. “What’s your point?”

“You’re going to tell us everything.” Gunn spoke slowly. “About Sam. The Partners’ plans for her.”

“Am I? That sounds tedious and unprofitable.”

“You set up the meeting.” Gunn’s stare was unyielding. “You want something from us. And the information you have on Sam is your only bargaining chip.”

“Not quite.” Vail mused, smirking. “But I take your point. Yes, I do want something. What I want-”

“First.” Gunn cut him off. “Before we get talking about details and payment, you need to provide us with some information as a sign of goodwill. Is Sam dangerous?”

Vail smiled. “Only as dangerous as any human in love can be.”

“And she wasn’t in on it? She had no idea?” 

“None whatsoever. A pawn, as I said. A real _goody two shoes_ too. I suppose that was inevitable, considering who she was modelled on.”

“Then what more information do you have that we need?” Charles shrugged. “We know she’s not a threat now. What’s to stop us walking away, uncovering the Partners’ schemes on our own?”

“You could do that. Uncover their plans without me.” Vail chuckled. “But you can’t sever Miss Jennings’ connection to the Senior Partners. I can.”

I fought to keep my jaw from dropping on. Vail… Vail could insulate Sam? Keep the Partners from torturing her, spying on her? Set her free of their-

“That’s not possible.” Gunn said flatly.

“Oh, ordinarily no. It wouldn’t be.” Vail nodded sagely. “Your erstwhile colleague Eve, for example. Her connection to the Partners will remain until both sides opt to sever it, and a contract is signed. But Samantha… I built her entire mind. The Partners’ have a front door into Eve and their other children. But such a front door would have been immediately detected by your friend Lorne. I had to build them a back door. Squirrelled away, hidden inside her memories. To keep her hidden from Lorne, and to make her believe - when they desired it - that the thoughts and words she was having were her own. I built the door. I can dismantle it.”

Oh, bugger. That bastard. We _needed_ that. As long as the Partners were linked to her mind, Sam could never know peace. At any moment, they could torture her, as they had before in the warehouse. Force orders and messages into her mind, tormenting her if she resisted. Pick through her every memory. Watch every intimate moment. But if we got rid of it…

She could have a normal life. Be free of them. Be her own person. Damn Vail.

“And the Partners’ couldn’t rebuild that door?” Gunn demanded.

“Oh, no. Miss Jennings would be free to lead an ordinary life. Well, relatively ordinary.” Vail shrugged. “I take it you are interested?”

Charles glanced at Angel. He nodded. Wesley would give anything for this. To save Sam from them. We owed it to both of them to try.

“What do you want from us?” Gunn asked.

“Oh, nothing too difficult. It’s right up your alley, in fact.” Vail paused. “I need a demon killed. A malevolent one.”

That didn’t sound so bad. 

Except… if this guy was a high-and-mighty warlock, why couldn’t he kill the guy himself?

“What demon?” I demanded suspiciously.

“You’ve tussled with him before. A _nasty_ little cur… Sahjahn.” Well, I was drawing a blank.

Gunn and Angel looked apprehensive. “He’s already taken care of.” Angel said suspiciously. “I trapped him in a bottle.”

“An urn, to be precise.” Vail waved at the ominous cabinet (I bloody knew it!) and the doors opened: standing inside was an urn. About two feet high.

Well, if this Sahjahn bloke could fit in there, this should be easy.

“He’s trapped in there. Forever.” Gunn raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need us?”

“Because urns… tend to break. Mortal enemies tend to return, seeking vengeance. I seek finality to my affairs.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.” I stood up and cracked my knuckles, making my way towards the cabinet.

The cabinet slammed shut. I turned to look at Vail, who had extended one gnarled hand in the direction of the cabinet, and was wearing an expression of utter contempt. “Will you make your bloody mind up? Do you want this guy dead or not?”

“There’s a prophecy. That’s why I can’t kill him myself. Sahjahn is preordained to die at the hands of another individual.” Vail paused, looking at Angel. “Angel is familiar with him. Somebody else whose memories I altered. Once a deadly warrior, now a hapless boy. Train him. Make him a killer. Return here, and kill Sahjahn. Once he is dead, bring me Miss Jennings and I will cut her off from the Partners forever.”

Angel’s jaw clenched. 

“And cutting her off - no negative side effects?” Gunn demanded.

“None.” Vail confirmed. “None whatsoever.”

“Counter-offer.” Ange spoke up. “Once this boy has killed Sahjahn, you also erase his memories of the experience. He doesn’t have to remember he lives in a world with monsters in it, or what he did.”

“Acceptable.” Vail stood up slowly, took a stumbling step forward and offered a hand. “Do we have an accord?”

Angel stood up and shook. We removed the rings and left quickly, going to the car.

“So, what’s the story with the kid?” Gunn asked Angel.

“Long. And complicated.” Angel sighed. 

“Can you get him to cooperate?” I put in. “Because if not, we’re in trouble.”

“I’ll think of something. Just get driving, Gunn.”

“What’s this kid’s name?” I asked, more out of boredom than anything.

“Connor.” Angel answered eventually. “Connor O’Reilly.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Spike**

“Bloody hell!” I felt my head slam into the side of the car and groaned. “Remind me why the brat is driving?”

“Hey! Who are you calling brat, bleach boy?” Connor demanded, somehow - thankfully - managing to take a corner without killing all four of us.

“And you’re teaching him bad manners too.” I groaned. “Angel, of all your bloody stupid ideas-”

“Hey, he wanted to drive the corvette! What was I supposed to say?” Angel shrugged.

“You were meant to say _no_, you colossal twit!” I almost screamed. “Have you even driven a day in your life, kid?”

“Of course. Just… never stick.”

“BLOODY AMERICANS!” I managed to hold myself in place as we took the next corner. We were almost to Vail’s place. I was almost free of this hell.

“I’m kind of with Spike here!” Sam shrieked as we nearly hit four pedestrians in rapid succession. “This feels very unsafe!”

“You’re practically invulnerable Sam, don’t worry about it.” Angel shrugged.

“Oh. Right.” Sam frowned, then brightened. “Does that mean if he crashes the car it won’t hurt?”

I briefly considered my long history of crashed cars and excruciatingly painful injuries. “Nail on the head.” I lied, smirking. “Totally painless. Like the bite of a mosquito.”

“Itchy?” Sam frowned.

I chuckled, shaking my head. You could definitely see the similarities with Fred at times like this. How Wesley hadn’t spotted it, I had no idea. Unless it was the whole being madly in love thing. That was probably it.

“Angel,” I yelled. “If I am not driving on the way back, then I am telling Wesley everything about this car ride and how you endangered Sam!”

Angel spun round in his seat. “You wouldn’t!”

“I BLOODY WOULD!” We bounced the kerb, and swerved back onto the road. I was sure nobody would need that fire hydrant.

Unless there was a fire. Then that would be terrible.

“And if he didn’t, I would!” Sam blurted out, cowering into the seat. “Please let Spike drive on the way back!”

“Listen to the genius in the car!” I jerked a thumb at Sam and grinned at her gratefully. “She’s bloody certified to be cleverer than us three put together!”

“If you tell Wesley he’ll kill me!” Angel hissed. “Slowly!”

“BUS!” Sam yelled. Connor hit the brakes and we screeched to a halt with a foot to spare. I wonder if the people on that bus had any idea how close they’d come to death?

I turned to face Sam, expression serious.“I’m good with that. Sam, you good with that?”

Sam looked conflicted. “Honestly, I’m kinda heading that way.”

Angel huffed. “Bloody… no sense of loyalty… I try to be nice and… and Connor, we’re swapping.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, wiping my forehead. I realised belatedly Sam was offering me a high five. I chuckled and high fived her. “So, you… you don’t hate me then?” Sam whispered, smiling shyly. “I mean… because of the… because I’m-”

“Vail cleared you.” I shrugged, waggling a finger. “While he was wearing a whatchamacallit ring-”

“Ash’lork’hon ceremonial host ring.” Sam supplied helpfully.

God, was there _anything_ she didn’t know? She was like the Fred of mystical… oh, yeah. Right.

“- right, yeah. Way I see it, you’re more a victim than we are.” I smiled reassuringly. “But we’re putting a stop to that.”

“So you keep saying.” Sam frowned. 

She was sceptical about our claims that we could help her. We couldn’t tell her about our agreement with Vail, of course: Partners would see it. And if they knew they were about to lose their favourite toy… well. I imagined they would not take it well. So it had to be a secret. Just for now. As soon as the three of us took care of Sahjahn, Vail would do his mojo, and Sam would be free. Free of the Partners. Free to start her new life.

With Wesley. Those crazy kids might just get to be happy. Which would be good for them. 

Angel buckled his seatbelt. “Fifty bucks says he’s worse than the kid.” I muttered to Sam.

Sam snorted. “What do you think I am, a sucker? Not taking that bet.”

“I can hear you.” Angel grumbled, starting the engine.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. Angel elected to pull up outside the house this time rather than in the garage (probably just wanted to show off his car to the whole neighbourhood, git), and him and the kid got out first.

I clambered out into the cool night air, .closing my eyes and enjoying the breeze on my face for a moment. “Here in one piece.” Angel had the nerve to grin smugly. “Don’t tell Wesley.”

“We have a no-secrets policy.” Sam mumbled, flushing slightly. “But I might… go light on some of the details.”

“That will probably save my life, so thanks.”

“You’re a badass vampire warrior.” Connor frowned, looking between the three of us. “What’s so scary about this Wesley guy?”

“Because all the reflexes and skills in the world won’t save me if he decides to stake me in my sleep.” Angel muttered.

“Or comes at you with a shotgun.” I pointed out cheerfully. “He’d just have to shoot out one of those windows in your office and you’d be burnt toast.”

“Or he could plant a bomb in my office.”

“It would be way easier just to set a magic trap in the elevator.” Sam piped up. “I mean, a couple of runes and those things would be a deathtrap. Not that I would ever, y’know, do that.”

I snorted. Please. Sam, set a deathtrap? I couldn’t imagine her setting a _mousetrap_, much less a deathtrap.

“Okay… this Wesley does sound pretty scary.” Connor nodded.

“Wesley’s not scary.” Sam giggled, shaking her head. “He’s a total softie.”

Me and Angel exchanged a look. “Terrifying and efficient bastard.” I offered.

“If a mosquito bit Sam, he would hunt it to the ends of the Earth.” Angel supplied, deadly serious.

“You two just don’t know his sensitive side.” Sam mumbled, folding her arms. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

I choked. That was hard to imagine. Or, it would be, if I hadn’t seen how he acted around Sam. Like a total softie. It’d be so easy to mock him.

If not for the whole staking me in my sleep thing.

“Alright, enough chatting about boys.” I cracked my knuckles. “Down to business.” I strode to the doors of the mansion and kicked them open. Half a dozen guard demons materialised in the entrance hall, weapons drawn. 

“Alright, lads!” I waved at them. “What ho! Been a good day? You have a barbecue? Go bowling? Watch your incredibly ugly children?”

The nearest demon growled, grunted and gestured for us to follow him into the mansion. “No sense of bloody humour.” I grinned, turning around. “Just like you, Angel!”

“I wish Gunn was here.” Ange grumbled. 

“He’s off fighting puppets.” Connor frowned. “Are you sure you guys don’t do an internship program?”

“Very sure.” Angel nodded.

“He’s much too stuffy.” I agreed. “But, if you want to be taken under a savvy vampire’s wing, learn the ways of the night, then I might be-”

“_SPIKE!”_ Angel roared. 

“Spike, Angel, _c’mon!”_ Sam’s plaintive voice cut through the noise. I bit down my (obviously devastating) retort against Angel and looked at her. Arms folded, looking profoundly… disappointed. I felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. “This is serious! Connor’s life is at stake! Stay serious, okay? Don’t argue. Just for once. For ten minutes?”

I felt a strange sinking feeling in my gut. Sam’s green eyes were pleading. I shuffled awkwardly in place. “If he agrees first.” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

God, how did Wes ever win an argument with her? Oh, right. He didn’t. Probably ever. “Alright.” I grumbled.

“Fine. I guess.” Angel nodded.

“Thanks.” Sam smiled (God, she was gorgeous). “Lead the way.”

I turned back round and followed the demon into Vail’s audience chamber. The ugly demon himself was lounging in his chair, flanked - as always - by guards. “Ah, so glad to see you made it.” Vail chuckled. “I was worrying my prophesied helper might die in a car crash.”

I glared at Angel, but fought down the urge to snark. For Sam’s sake, not Angel’s.

“I’m invoking the Ash’lork’hon negotiation rituals!” Sam piped up, swallowing. “On behalf of myself, my clan leader, and my comrades-in-arms. I request for us to be provided with the ceremonial rings of Protection, and for you to wear the ceremonial host ring.”

“But of course.” Vail purred, making a great show of putting on that ugly silver ring as a demon approached us with our set. Four rings. I pulled mine on, waiting for the others to follow suit.

“You swear to abide by the terms of our earlier deal?” I pressed. “We kill Sahjahn, you answer our questions, and perform the agreed upon spells?” I wish I could be more explicit, but I couldn’t, not with those bastard Partners potentially listening in via Sam.

“I swear.” Vail nodded. “Once Sahjahn is dead, I will answer your questions, and perform the agreed-upon spells. You have my word. Which is, while I wear this ring, my bond.”

“Where’s the urn?” Angel folded his arms.

“All in good time.” Vail slowly stood upright, taking a few shaky steps towards us. “Samantha Jennings.” He breathed, crusty eyes sweeping her up and down. She shrank back, eyes wide. I stepped between them, glaring at Vail. 

“Don’t you bloody dare-”

“Oh, oh no. I could _never_ hurt her.” Vail shook his head, still staring at her. He shook his head. “My finest creation. See it? Those wide, perfect eyes, so full of worry and so beautiful despite it? How she curls in on herself when threatened, _crying out_ for protection without even realising - the perfect lure for your friend, I thought - …that flush in her cheeks at my little compliments? Demonstrative of her modesty, but only making her all the prettier?”

“Stop… stop talking about me.” Sam swallowed.

“Yeah,” I growled. “Cut it out, you creepy-”

“How did it feel?” Vail pleaded, looking at Sam. “I have to know how it felt. When you saw him for the first time, when you spent that first day with him, those evenings and weekends… tell me, please. No further questions afterwards, I promise.”

“It… it…” Sam swallowed, and I saw the ring on her finger glow brighter. Keeping her from whatever careful evasion she’d been about to make. “It was magical. Every little moment. Everything. I… I love him so much. He’s my perfect everything.”

“Good.” Vail breathed out. “Good. I _knew_ it. I knew it. Made it all worth it, didn’t it? That lonely childhood, the bullies, the rejections, the fear? Mr Wyndam-Pryce made everything worth it. You don’t have to answer, that wasn’t a question… I know it.”

“He did.” Sam almost whispered.

I felt a strong tug on my heartstrings. Bloody hell, I was going to cry. I couldn’t cry, I had a bloody reputation to maintain. Literally. I subtly wiped my eye, noting Angel doing the same thing. Connor wasn’t being subtle about it. That was fair: he was still young. But then, so was Sam. 

Ah, love. Enough to make me want to write poetry again.

“I apologise for that.” Vail sank back into his chair. “I just… you must understand, I had to _know_. That my creation had done as I planned. That she had fulfilled her purpose not just materially, but emotionally. That I had successfully created an entire, functioning, compassionate, _genius_ human mind from scratch.”

Vail grinned. “I really _am_ the greatest warlock alive.”

“That’s enough of that.” I slammed my foot on the floor. “The urn?”

“Just through there.” Vail waved his hand. A section of brick wall vanished, exposing a room with a long table down the middle. An urn rested on the centre. “Adorn yourself with weapons beforehand.” There was a moderately sized arsenal of weaponry in the room.

“We’ll be right back.” I whispered to Sam as Angel and Connor went through. “I promise, pet.”

“I believe you.” Sam nodded. “I just… be careful, okay? They… they don’t call him Timeshifter for nothing. He’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt over me. Or at all! Obviously, I mean, if you got hurt that would be-”

“A risk well worth bloody taking for your happiness.” I cut her off. “You just don’t let Vail stick you in a museum or something while we’re in there, yeah?”

Sam shuddered. “Oh, God. Like that scene in Toy-”

“Story 2!” I finished, nodding. “Christ, that creepy toy repair guy, that’s who Vail reminds me of.”

“Oh, _God._” Sam shuddered more violently. “Now I have that image in my head, except I’m the toy.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” I paused, then grinned. “He made it quite clear you’re Wesley’s toy to play with.”

I ran off before she could respond (or stab me), dashing after Angel and Connor. Now she wouldn’t be worrying herself about Vail. She’d be too busy being angry at me. A price worth paying to take her mind off the overly-attached warlock.

Especially since I couldn’t resist making that remark! It had been so obvious. And so good.

“Alright, you two ready to do this?” I strutted over the table, snatching up a longsword. I probably wouldn’t need it, but hey, no sense not being careful when it came to time-traveling demons. Even regular demons could cause enough trouble by themselves.

“All ready.” Angel hefted his own sword - a short-sword, I noted with a smirk - and looked meaningfully at Connor. “We clear on the plan?”

“Yeah. We open the urn, you two hold him down, I make with the cutty-choppy.” Connor hefted his sword, frowning slightly. “Still doesn’t seem fair.”

“Ok, listen kid. One,” I held up one finger. “This is a bloody immortal demon who - if he knew about the prophecy, would probably have had you killed in your crib, so don’t worry about fair too much.”

Angel winced. I pressed on. “Two - you remember Sam? The lovely, charming, young woman out there I saw you eyeing up when she climbed into the car?”

Connor went bright red and nodded. I smirked: had he really thought nobody would see? Kid’s eyes had practically been out on stalks. I might have been right there with him, if not for the whole staked-in-my-sleep thing.

“She is under the worst bloody curse you can possibly imagine. Her entire life controlled by ancient, malevolent beings more powerful and terrible than any ordinary demon. At any moment, they can torture her, compel her, or spy on anything she sees, hears, or thinks. Now, we are gonna save her from that, and killing this bastard-” I tapped the side of the urn very gently with my sword. “- is the way to do it. Sam is more important than your sense of honour. Got it?”

“Got it.” He nodded meekly. He was still blushing from my earlier remark. I didn’t blame him, truth to be told. She really was a work of art.

“What happened to the doorway?” Angel gestured behind me. I spun around and suppressed a growl. A wooden panelled wall had materialised between us. 

“Sam’s still got the ring on, he can’t hurt her.” I muttered, hefting my sword. “Vail clearly has doubts about our effectiveness. Let’s get this over with shall we?”

“I’ll open on three.” Angel looked at me. I nodded. “One. Two. Three!” Angel seized the lid and lifted it off.

Shimmering yellow dust elevated out of the urn, flowing across the room in several thin streams. Angel and I moved around opposite sides of the table, tracking it carefully. Seconds later, with a flash of mucus-green light, the strands had coalesced into a person. Perfect.

Angel got there first, body-slamming Sahjahn from behind and sealing one arm in a tight grip. The demon was rammed face-first into the wall with a startled grunt, one arm flailing. I grabbed that arm and twisted it out of shape, pinning his other shoulder to the wall in the process. I heard Connor run up behind us and, before Sahjahn even managed a word, his head was spinning away to land on the ghastly tiled floor. One more stain to mop up. I let go of the body and Angel followed suit. It fell to the floor in a heap. Angel kicked it half-heartedly. 

“Alright. Good job kid.” I nodded approvingly at Connor, prying the axe out of his hands. “One monstrous demon dead. Not bad.” Especially for someone with all of one day’s training who’d relied on _Angel_ for most of his teaching, had never fought a real demon before, and was about to be memory-wiped.

The sound of clapping echoed across the room. I turned around, sighing and folding my arms. The fake wall had vanished and Vail was shuffling across the room towards us, clapping. “Good, Connor! Very good. Well done. Excellent show.” He wheezed, adjusting his breathing tube. “Couldn’t have done it myself.”

“Nicely done, guys.” Sam piped up, offering a quick thumbs-up and a small smile. “Especially you, Connor.”

Connor noticeably puffed up. “Staked in your sleep.” I muttered to him under his breath. Best not to let him get any ideas.

“We did our job.” Angel folded his arms. “Now pay up your end.”

“Of course, of course!” Vail nodded eagerly. “More than happy to. Miss Jennings?”

“Yeah?” Sam shifted, swallowing.

“Kneel, if you would. On the floor.” Sam glanced over at me: I nodded. She grimaced and bit her lip, looking distinctly unhappy, but knelt on the floor. “Everyone else, stay back. Can’t have you interfering with this. This is _delicate_ magic.”

“We’ll be right here, Sam.” I smiled encouragingly, taking a few steps backwards.

“I should warn you, Sam.” Vail clenched one clawed hand, causing a circle of mystical runes to burn themselves into the floor around her (in front of him). “That this _will_ hurt.”

“How much?” Sam paled. “Are we talking broken leg or heart attack or-”

“I am reshaping your brain and the pathways of your subconscious. That should give you an idea.” Vail chuckled. “Now watch, little girl, and observe _real_ magic.”

Every symbol glowed bright purple at once and Sam’s back arched, head going skywards. She looked like she was screaming, face distorted with horrifyingly visible pain, but I couldn’t hear anything.  


“What the hell is happening?” I growled.

“I am _concentrating.”_ Vail muttered, eyes narrowing on Sam. She was thrashing helplessly in the circle, screaming silently. “So that I can alter your friend’s neural and mystical structures without killing her, and in a way that minimises the duration of her agony.”

I couldn’t look away from the circle. “Why isn’t she screaming?” I mumbled.

“She is.” Angel said quietly. “Vail’s will prevents her from being heard.”

“Bloody hell.” I swallowed. C’mon Sam. You can do it. An agonising twenty seconds later, I turned to Vail. “How much longer?”

“These things take time.” Vail murmured. “Perhaps another twenty seconds. Sixty at most.”

“Almost done Sam!” I yelled, praying she could hear me. I clenched my fists. “You’re almost there!”

Thirty-six terrible seconds later, the glyphs etched into the floor flashed bright purple, then faded to black scorch marks. I heard Sam scream for a second before she stopped of her own accord. She tumbled from her kneeling position onto her side, curled in on herself, shaking like a leaf. “Sam!” I sprinted up to her and went down on one knee, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re okay, it’s over.”

“All done.” Came that insufferably smug voice from behind me. “All my finest works in one room. How _amusing_.”

“Sam…” I murmured. “Sam, can you hear me?”

She nodded very slowly, and hesitantly pushed herself upright, arms shaking. Her mouth worked silently for a moment, then she made eye contact. “I can’t feel them.” She whispered. She closed her eyes immediately upon saying it, tilting her head down for a moment like she was trying to shield it.Then she opened her eyes, looked back up at me and smiled. “They’re _gone._ I can tell! Ever since the warehouse I could feel them prodding around in the back of my head, and now they’re… I’m free!”

I let out a cheer and helped her upright, clapping her jubilantly on the back. She stumbled forwards a few steps, looking at me semi-reproachfully, but with a broad smile on her face. She looked over the moon. “So, what do you reckon?” I smirked. “Take the long way home? Grab a drink? Go shopping? Maybe take a trip out to-”

“Wesley.” Sam interrupted me, eyes shining with unbridled happiness. “I want to see Wesley.”

“Never would have guessed.” I grinned. “Still, we can accommodate that, I imagine.” Sam smiled like a lovesick fool, beginning to absent-mindedly smooth down her skirt and play with her hair. I chuckled to myself, then turned back to face Vail and Angel.

Angel was gripping Vail’s hand tightly, examining the ring. My blood ran cold: had we been tricked? Had he-

“It’s the same ring. Authentic.” Angel muttered, releasing Vail’s hand.

“Of course it is.” Vail grunted. “I promised to cut her off from the Senior Partners, and I did. If I had deceived you, I would be a melted puddle on the floor right now.”

“Gunn confirmed that much.” I added. “We done, Angel?”

“One more spell first.” Angel’s eyes narrowed. Oh, yeah. The kid.

“I’m _very_ tired, Angel.” Vail wiped his forehead. He did look… drained, somehow. Like some inner strength supporting that frail body had fled. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I swear to honour my promise then.” He wiggled his ring finger meaningfully. “I don’t want to do shoddy work.”

“Fine. You can do it remotely right?” Angel glanced at the boy just for a moment: guess he didn’t want to explain bringing him back here. Just wanted to let him go home, then scrub all this from his mind. Probably for the best. Kid didn’t need to know he lived in a world of monsters.

“Of course.” Vail began shambling nonchalantly back towards his chair. “Once I‘ve had a refreshing beverage, some soup, and a good night’s rest.”

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just betrayed the Senior Partners.” Angel remarked, folding his arms.

Vail scoffed, waving one hand. “Please. I’m far too _valuable_ for them to retaliate against. I built them one of her, I can build them another. Sam was already compromised anyway, practically worthless. My little… _indiscretion_ really saved them time and energy. I’m their finest warlock. Granted, I won’t be in their good graces for a while but give it time. I’ll do them a favour or two, provide some generous spell services, and they’ll forget about this little… indiscretion. You mark my words, Angel, the Partners aren’t going to harm one hair on my-”

_Crack._

Everything seemed to happen very slowly. Angel and I looked up first at the sound, the quietest, yet most _definite_ cracking noise I’d ever heard. Connor was next, of course: whatever his demonic heritage was, it came with good hearing. Then the guards. And then Vail. He tilted his head back, squinting up, looking distinctly peeved. Like he was thinking about the hassle of bringing in a repair guy to fill in a crack or two.

Then the entire section of ceiling above Vail collapsed. Along with the room directly above him, and the solid stone ceiling above that. Several metric tons of concrete, wood, furniture, and stone collapsing right above his head. For one second, his eyes widened in shock. Bug-eyed. The collapse seemed to have been centred directly above him, so that the majority of the debris impacted him like a localised avalanche. 

_Crack. Crunch_. _Squish._

Where Vail had been walking, a pile of rubble perhaps twice my height squatted, its weight cracking the floor beneath it. I smelt it before I saw it, an unpleasant, sticky, gooey, puddle of purple blood oozing out from beneath the pile.

“Can’t get the job security these days.” I shook my head, scrutinising the ceiling. Every other piece of it was completely intact. Minus a ten foot wide hole going all the way outside centred on where Vail had been, the house looked in perfect shape.

“He… might not be dead?” Connor swallowed, looking at the blood with a revolted expression. “Maybe he-”

A forked bolt of red lightning came through the hole in the roof and went straight into the pile of rubble, which exploded outwards with impressive force. I leapt into the air, dodging a slab of stone which passed beneath me by a whisker at impressive velocity. Angel sidestepped a smaller chunk and Connor flattened himself on the ground to dodge a particularly jagged piece of foundation. Sam wasn’t so fast. A chunk of stone the size of my fist spun into the side of her head. Her eyes rolled backwards and she slumped to the floor, out cold. 

I cursed and rushed forwards to scoop her up, appraising the room as I did so. Every wall was now covered in a haphazard assortment of impact craters, and decorated by the occasional chunk of stone or wood that had embedded itself halfway up. I heard a few closer sounding cracks from the roof. “Angel, we should probably get-”

The demons rushed us, letting out a battlecry. Bloody hell, how stupid were they? Fortunately, most had been felled by the explosion, so there were just three to deal with. Unfortunately, I was carrying a very unconscious (but admittedly very light) person in my arms. Kicks it was. I floored the demon with a spinning kick, stomping on his neck to finish the job. Easy.

Angel and Connor had cleaned up similarly easily. “So much for Mister Valuable.” I kicked a piece of rubble in the direction of the slightly-reduced-in-size pile of debris covering whatever was left of Vail. “I’m guessing that’s what happens when the Partners get pissed?”

“Honest truth? Never seen it before.” Angel began guiding Connor towards the exit. I followed (not because Angel was right or leading the way, but because I had to get Sam out of there before the whole place collapsed, even if it meant that _technically_ Angel was a step or two in front of me). “But collapsing a building on the most powerful demon warlock around, then hurling a bolt of red lightning at the corpse to make a point kind of seems like their style.”

“Yeah. Don’t reckon any other warlocks will be getting ideas about _indiscretions_.” I examined Sam briefly: she looked fine. Probably best to get her to medical, just to be sure. “Should we call Percy?”

“He and Fred are out raiding Smile Time right now with Gunn.” Angel rubbed his forehead, sighing. “Don’t want to distract them.”

“I kinda think she’ll want to tell him herself.” Connor opined, expression thoughtful. 

“You’re probably right.” I tucked one unruly lock of blond hair behind her ear as I loaded her into the back of the car. 

“Wesley’s a lucky guy.” Connor added, shooting one last admiring glance at Sam. 

“He really is.” I buckled Sam’s seatbelt and climbed in, trying very hard not to think about a woman a lot like Sam who seemed to have no luck at all.

By the time Angel started the car, the house had mostly collapsed behind us. Good riddance.


	12. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Angel and Spike deal with Vail, Fred and Wesley confront Smile Time.
> 
> They have a conversation.

**Fred**

“Two plus two is four! And in related news… four plus four is eight!” The dog puppet announced.

“This could be a lack of sleep talking.” I frowned, rubbing my eyes and blinking at the TV screen set up in the middle of the lab. “But I’m really starting to like this show.”

“I know what you mean.” Wesley nodded, smiling. “Have you considered that it’s probably the mathematical element?”

“Oh, you know me.” I turned to face him, tilted my head, and smiled sardonically. “Nothing gets my heart pumping like basic sums narrated by a talking dog.”

Wesley chuckled, shooting me a genuine smile. It wasn’t the lack of sleep after all. It was the company. Speaking of… “Do you need to go?” I asked, trying to hide my reluctance. I looked away, focusing deliberately on a folder. “I mean… Sam’s at home, isn’t she?”

“I don’t need to go back, no.” Wesley shook his head. I felt my heart soar and internally cursed myself. “But thank you for checking on me. I called Sam and explained the case… she was adamant that I should stay here with you and fix it as quickly as possible. She… has a soft spot for children. Families, in particular.”

Of course she did.

“Wesley?” I spoke quietly, swallowing. He looked over at me, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m really, _really_ sorry. About Sam.”

Wesley looked at his hands. He fidgeted. “You made the strategic choice.” Wesley sighed. “I can’t fault you for it. The altered memories, the folder, Cordelia’s advice… it all pointed to her being a spy. You were looking out for me.”

“That doesn’t mean what happened wasn’t awful.” I squirmed. “I… I planned her _kidnapping,_ Wes. She would have been terrified and… and you must have been out of your mind with worry. I would have been if… if it had been…” You.

God, if _Wesley_ went missing… if something happened to him, then I… I don’t know what I would do. No, I did. I’d devote every waking moment to finding him. But I’d be terrified the whole time.

“I understand.” Wesley nodded. “And I was worried at first. Realising she hadn’t got home. My tracking spell failing me. Once that happened, I went looking for all of you. And when all of you were mysteriously missing, well… that almost made it obvious what happened. But not why. But you explained yourselves. I can… understand the desire to take unilateral action.”

“I just…” I frowned, scooting my chair closer to his. “I don’t understand why Cordy didn’t just tell me! Or you! I mean, she… she clearly _knew_ so why didn’t she save us all the fear?”

“I imagine the Powers put her under strict rules for her jaunt.” Wesley rubbed his chin. “No direct interference.”

“It still sucks.” I muttered.

“It does. But I know I’ve got you.” Wesley smiled and punched my side playfully. “I can get through anything with you at my side.”

If only he knew how true the first part of that sentence really was. If he knew how I felt about him.

“I’m glad to hear that.” I smiled. Then I yawned. “But I really need a coffee to get through this. As well as, y’know, you.”

“Coffee sounds good.” Wesley nodded. “Stretch our legs.”

We walked over to the coffee machine and hovered there while we waited for it to be done.

“It’s… it’s really good. That Angel and all got Vail to agree to help Sam.” I offered. “I mean, once they get rid of Sahjahn - which is a good unto itself if you ask me - then she’ll be free. No more pain. No more Partners. She’ll be… be able to come back.” A tiny part of me noted this was likely to be the last time I could have Wesley all to myself. That I could lie to myself and pretend Sam wasn’t around, ready to dash round a corner and kiss him, to love him, to build a life with him.

That was Sahjahn’s fault too. If not for him, there would have been no Holtz. Wesley wouldn’t have gone behind our backs to protect us from Holtz, Angel wouldn’t have tried to kill him, he would have stayed with the group… I would have realised how I felt about him sooner. I’d have had a chance to be with him.

If wishes were horses.

“It’s marvellous.” Wesley murmured, then took a deep breath. “Fred, I… I need your advice.”

“Of course.” I frowned. Wesley looked _worried_. Forehead lined, mouth tight, shoulders tense. “Wes, whatever’s bothering you… shoot.”

“It’s about Sam.” Wesley sat down heavily on one of the chairs in the break area and I sat down beside him, focusing on him intently. Wesley needed my help. “I… what you all told me about the folder, the objectives, and what Vail said…”

Wesley swallowed and rubbed one eye, swallowing. “Sam, she… she doesn’t…” Oh my God, his eyes were damp. Oh gosh, poor Wesley! What was he worrying about? 

Didn’t matter. That could wait.

I stood up and crossed the distance between us with a step, embracing him. “It’s okay, Wes.” I murmured soothingly, hugging him close. “Wes, please, just… take it slow, okay? Breath slowly. I’m here, okay?”

I felt Wesley nod, but I also felt him shaking in my arms and I felt my stomach twist. I squeezed him more tightly, rubbing his back reassuringly. “Whatever it is, we can fix it, okay? Just… take your time.”

It was thirty-one seconds later that Wesley drew back slightly, swallowing and rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “Fred, I am so…”

“Hush.” I murmured, and reached over to tenderly wipe away a little bit of tear residue. “Hush, hush, hush. Don’t be sorry, Wes. What you’re going through… it’s unbelievably difficult. It is very, _very_ alright to cry.”

“But you shouldn’t have to… to be here… to have to take care of-”

“I want nothing more than to take care of you.” I whispered, managing to keep my voice from breaking. “You’re so precious to me, Wesley. Please, _please_ let me help. With all of it.”

“Thank you.” Wesley said quietly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Oh, I’ll just go then, shall I?” I raised an eyebrow and scoffed. Wesley grinned sheepishly. I punched his side playfully. “Idiot.”

“Hurtful.” Wesley grinned ever so slightly.

“You deserve the best of everything, Wesley.” I said softly, squeezing his hand. It was so true, why couldn’t he see it? So kind, so selfless, always so eager to do what was right for his friends, terrified of being a burden when he was the furthest thing from it. “Please, never forget that. And… and talk to me?”

There was a long pause, while Wesley visibly gathered his thoughts. “The Partners created Sam. And Vail designed her personality.” Wesley swallowed, drumming his fingers on the table anxiously. “They… put her here for a reason. With a purpose.”

“To replace me.” I nodded, feeling my gut twist at the myriad unpleasant implications of that, and reassuring myself that I was safe, that it was all being handled.

“Yes. And also… to seduce me.” Wesley made eye contact. His entire expression pained. “She didn’t have any choice but to love me.”

I blinked once. Twice. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not.” Wesley shook his head firmly. “They would have sculpted her hormonal system to guarantee physical attraction to me. Vail would have implanted memories defining her ideal partner as something close to me. Then they put her in my path and… and even if that wasn’t enough, Vail said they could implant thoughts and words in her head without her even knowing. No matter what Sam did, no matter what happened… she wouldn’t have been allowed to not be in love with me.”

“Wesley, that’s not your fault.” I said quietly. “Even if… if what you’re saying is true - and I don’t necessarily agree with it - you didn’t want this, not any of it.”

“I benefited from it.” Wesley shot back. “Exploited her. She had no choice in any of it… I all but… I practically…”

“_NO!_” Because I could see exactly where his line of thought was going, and he was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. “Wesley, no! Do not beat yourself up like this, that is ridiculous!”

How on Earth did I… aha!  


“Before you argue with me, listen!” I pleaded. Wesley nodded. “Look, you… you must have had the free choice argument with Sam by now, right? I know you must have. Arguing that she’s not a robot, that she has free will, makes her own choices, chose to be a good person?”

“Yes.” Wesley frowned. “How on earth did you know-”

“I just know that’s something you would do.” I paused. “Because that talk is crucial to her, to her wellbeing, so I knew you would have it. So, take all the arguments you made for her free will, and apply it to her relationship with you.”

“That’s different.” Wesley frowned. “Everyday decisions are one thing, but this was part of their plan, I was-”

“What if she hated you?” I folded my arms. “What if you really bugged her, hmm? You think the Partners could keep trying to convince her she had feelings for you? There’s no way they could implant thoughts with any kind of frequency or she - being a mystical expert - would figure out something was wrong. Considering they clearly planned for her to be a… a long-term asset, they’d never risk exposing themselves like that.”

“Perhaps.” Wesley admitted. “But there was no chance of her not liking me in the first place. Because as I said before, they would have designed her so that-”

“That’s just the same as anyone, Wesley!” I threw my arms wide. “Physical attraction is chemicals in the brain and body, pumping around, driving people crazy! Are you going to apologise to me because some quirk of my genetics generates physical attraction towards you?”

Wait. Wait, no.

Oh my God. I hadn’t been thinking! I hadn’t been thinking at all!

“Hypothetically!” I blurted out. “I mean, if… just taking the… the general case that is. I mean if I, you wouldn’t, would you? It wouldn’t make any sense?”

Wesley frowned at me intently, lips pursed. I fought the urge to tremble.

I’d screwed up. I’d screwed _everything_ up. Weeks and weeks of hiding how I felt about him so that he and Sam could be happy, and I’d screwed it all up by accidentally blurting out the truth while I was trying to make him feel better! I was stupid, I was a screw-up, I…

It felt _good_. Like a weight off my shoulders. He knew. No more need to hide. I didn’t need to watch my words, or worry about how I was acting. I could just be me. And this wouldn’t change anything, obviously, because Sam was his literal _dream girl_, I mean, she was his world. But it made me feel a lot better. I just hoped it wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t make him feel-

“You’re right.” Wesley interrupted my train of thought, an expression of abject _relief_ breaking out on his face. “God, you’re a genius.”

He wasn’t addressing it. Were we just meant to-

Oh.

Oh, he hadn’t noticed. He’d believed me when I said it was hypothetical. That was a relief. That was marvellous. Just great. Fantastic. I didn’t have to worry about how it might affect him or… the weight on my shoulders was back.

“I guess I have my moments.” I shrugged, trying to act casual.

“No, really, the thought experiment. Very good.” Wesley chuckled, nodding. “Stretches suspension of disbelief, but makes the point very well. Well done.” 

“I don’t think it stretches it at all.” I frowned. Did he really think it was so outlandish for me to have-

“That’s very kind of you to say.” Wesley interrupted me, smiling warmly. “Thank you. For that. And for… for keeping me from doing something very stupid.”

“What very stupid thing have I kept you from doing this time?” I grinned playfully.

“Leaving Sam.” Wesley said the words so casually, shaking his head in the air of one discussing the mistakes of youth. My heart shattered in my chest. “For her own good. I was planning how to do it. How to explain - in a way that made sense, that was genuine, that she knew was genuine - that I love her, but that it wasn’t her choice to be with me, and that she should have time to work out who she is, to exercise free will before anything should happen.”

He would have left Sam. I’d talked him out of leaving Sam. I’d kept them together. Probably forever, the way they felt about each other, I’d just…

I’d talked myself out of happiness. Of course I had.

“But you were right, of course.” Wesley nodded, carrying on completely oblivious to my internal turmoil. “Yes. Loving someone is a choice. We control it. I was a fool to think otherwise.”

Yes, it was. I’d chosen to love Wesley. 

But he didn’t love me. Not even one little bit.

“I have to go to the little girls’ room.” I lied, walking away as fast as I could. “I’ll… I’ll be right back!”

“Of course.” Wesley nodded. “I’ll get your coffee. _Fred!_”

I hovered in the doorway, waiting.

“Thank you so much.” Wesley smiled sincerely.

“You’re welcome!” I lied and smiled, turning and walking away.

I managed to keep the smile from fading until I was firmly bolted into the toilet. 

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“You’re back!” I smiled and waved at Fred as she entered the lab. She shot me a smile in return, sitting down in her seat. “Your coffee. All ready.” I nodded to the cup.

“Thanks.” She began to drink it at an impressive rate.

“No problem.” I frowned. Something felt… off. Ever so slightly. How abruptly she’d left and now… she looked ever so slightly different. Oh!

She’d reapplied her makeup. Fascinating. I wonder why? Maybe it was a psyching up exercise? Touching up eye shadow and mascara as preparation to kick metaphorical arse? I was no expert on such things. Best to change the subject.

“I still can’t find whatever it is we’re missing.” I frowned. “This is some devious magic at work.”

“I guess we should go back and comb through the signal spread, check all the tracks again.” Fred mused, leaning over to fiddle with the controls.

There was something wrong. I was sure of it. It was the same signs as from before Cordy had arrived. The same ever-so-slightly-off demeanour, the less-energetic-than-normal attitude. The slightest hints of melancholy. I’d thought Cordy had talked to Fred, sorted the problem and that’s why she’d been…

No, of course not. Cordy hadn’t done that, there hadn’t been time. Fred had seemed better because she’d been single-mindedly focusing on helping me. Getting to the bottom of the Partners’ schemes. She’d put aside whatever malaise she was dealing with. And just now she’d seemed different because she was helping me, _again_.

I owed her the same help. Time to have a real talk. Hopefully I wouldn’t piss her off this time around.

“So, we’ve talked enough about me, I think.” I said conversationally, subtly muting Smile Time. “How are things going with you?”

“Things have been very ordinary.” Fred made a thoughtful expression, chocolate brown eyes soft, tucking one perfect lock of hair behind one ear. “Minus the part where I spent a week sneaking around behind everyone’s back flying all over the country investigating Sam, before I had her kidnapped by two vampires in a truck. Huh. It’s been _kinda_ normal… By our standards, that is.”

“Fair point.” I nodded. Our lives were deeply odd. I was suddenly vividly reminded of that conversation I’d had with Cordelia, the night I’d invited everyone over, the first time I’d openly admitted my feelings for Fred to anyone: that perhaps we… people involved with the supernatural world… were meant for each other.

So very long ago.

“Did you see your parents while you were in Texas?” I queried.

“Yes!” Fred brightened considerably. “Just for a quick bite to eat. It was lovely to see them. They’re super excited at the moment.”

“Do tell.” 

“They’re going to Hawaii in a couple of weeks.” Fred smiled. “They’ve been saving up for ages! They’re so excited. _And_ their flight has a layover in LA, so I might get to see them on their way over there!”

“That’s lovely.” I smiled. “God, I think we could all do with a holiday. Somewhere nice, and very far away.”

“Definitely.” Fred nodded, resting her chin on one hand. “But where to go?”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Greece or Italy myself.” I mused.

“You’re such an ancient civilisations geek.” Fred smiled at me fondly.

“Guilty as charged.” I raised both hands. “Where would you go?”

“Definitely Europe.” Fred chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe Paris. I always wanted to go there.”

I nodded. I suppose it was time to broach the subject. Delicately of course. But her and Spike had been going out for over a month now. It wouldn’t be invasive of me to discuss it. “So, Fred, who would you be taking on a getaway to the City de Amor?” 

“Oh, God.” Fred shook her head firmly. “Nobody. Definitely nobody. Just me and Feigenbaum.”

“Really?” Maybe she thought I would judge her for being with Spike. That wasn’t the case at all, she should be with whoever made her happy. “There’s ah… nobody you have feelings for?”

“No!” Fred shook her head firmly, cheeks going pink. “No, my… my life is _very_ boring. No gossip, I’m afraid. No feelings whatsoever.”

“Nobody you knew for quite a while before feelings blossomed? Someone harsh on the outside, but with the soul of a poet? Someone who flirts with danger, but always ends up on the right side in the end?” 

Fred stared resolutely at the screen. “…No.”

Hmm. If she was this desperate _not_ to talk about Spike, that might be a sign we really did have to talk about it. Maybe that was what was bothering her. I hated to intrude, but… but I owed it to Fred to try to help.

As best I could.

“Not even a…” How best to describe him? Positively? Ah, stick to the classics. “… a certain charming Englishman?” I smiled reassuringly.

Fred’s head snapped round so fast it was a miracle it didn’t spin off her shoulders. She flushed a brighter red than I’d ever seen her, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing once or twice, no words emerging.

Oh, my. I’d actually _stumped_ Fred. That was a first. She must have thought her and Spike were a well kept secret. Pfft. That was cute.

“How… how did you know?” Fred almost whispered, expression raw. “I… _When_ did you know?”

Oh, god. She must think I was judging her, she was embarrassed! Which was absolute nonsense. I mean, as if I had a right to call anyone’s choice of partner into question given my past indiscretions. Besides, Spike _was_ a hero. A very annoying one admittedly - and I’d never call him a hero out loud, unless perhaps he saved mine and Fred’s lives simultaneously, singlehandedly, unarmed, while facing down a super-powered evil being - but he was charming, funny, handsome, and he had a good heart. And he clearly cared about Fred a great deal.

Right. The conversation. I hadn’t spoken for a few seconds and Fred was looking increasingly anxious. I should put her mind at ease. “Oh, I think perhaps… eight weeks, give or take? After I came back to work following my… absence.”

Fred blinked. “You didn’t say anything.” Fred spoke so quietly that a pin dropping would have drowned her out. 

“It wasn’t my place.” I smiled warmly, leaning forwards. “Besides, why would I? I’m unspeakably happy with how things have turned out.”

Fred turned away, drawing a deep - almost shuddering? - breath and bracing herself on the countertop. “Oh. I… of course.”

“You and Spike seem wonderfully happy together.” I continued. “I mean, the way you are around each other… simply adorable. I kept on trying to set up a double date for the four of us, but-”

_“SPIKE?!”_ And again, her head whipped round. I made a mental note to book Fred a neck massage tomorrow, once this puppet situation was dealt with. “You’ve been talking about _Spike_?”

“Of course.” I smiled. Fred looked utterly disbelieving. Who on earth had she thought I was-

Fred burst out laughing, a smile overtaking her previously shocked expression as she shook with laughter in her chair. I frowned as she continued, with no sign of stopping, hair bouncing, eyes gleaming. Why was she- 

“Wesley,” Fred shook her head, smile growing broader by the moment. “I am _not_ dating Spike.”

“Oh.” I blinked, reflexively glancing at her hand. No ring. “It’s more serious than that?”

“No, it is _nonexistent_.” Fred giggled, putting one hand over her mouth. “Oh my _gosh_. Spike? Seriously?”

“But… but…” My mind helpfully supplied a vivid recollection of all the scenes I’d (unintentionally) witnessed. “The way you two looked at each other that day Harmony kidnapped you! The tender embrace by the lifts… he didn’t go after Buffy because of you… and Harmony told me you were the first person he sought out when he came back… all the affection in the bar after we defeated Lindsey - I mean, you were stroking his chest - and he moved in with you!”

Fred shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He was just thanking me for trying to make him corporeal again! We were hugging goodbye because we were friends, and we might never see each other again! He stuck around to take care of Angel and all of us - not that he’d admit it - and in the bar I was making sure his ribs weren’t broken!”

“And as for him moving in with me,” Fred snorted. “That is the most unromantic thing ever.”

“Really?” I frowned. 

“He moved in because Lindsey gave him his last apartment and he never wanted to go back there.” Fred smirked. “And you should see how he acts around the house! Like a five year old, honestly. He can’t cook, he is _terrible_ at cleaning, he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the shower, and he uses as much hair product in a week as I do in a year! He sleeps on my sofa.”

“Well, that’s not a fair comparison to make with the hair product.” I pointed out. “You’ve always had naturally perfect hair. I take your point on the rest though.” 

Fred and Spike weren’t dating. I felt a very odd sense of… relief? Why was I relieved?

Ah! Because I no longer had to worry about Buffy showing up, looking for Fred’s head on a pike. That was a blessed relief. I made a mental note to scrap the safe-house and anti-detection wards I’d had prepped for the eventuality that a scorned Buffy showed up to dispense some scorn.

“So… you and Spike aren’t dating?” I asked slowly. How strange, I’d been so certain…

“Definitely not.” Fred punched my shoulder. “Oh my _gosh_, Wes. You cannot talk to me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly, holding up both hands in a sign of surrender. “I may have extrapolated from poor evidence.”

“Boy, did you ever.”

“Okay, alright, I get it, I’m terrible.” I muttered.

“You’re really not.” Fred giggled, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re my _best friend_, Wes. Do you really think I would move in with someone romantically and not say anything to you about it?”

I privately thought that given our… ah… _my_ history, Fred might have - reasonably - decided to keep me out of the loop. “I thought you might just want privacy.” I shrugged, feeling significantly better. Fred _did_ trust me enough to tell me things. There was just nothing to tell.

“My apologies” I sat back and shook my head. “Damn. I really am the _worst_ at this.”

“No, Angel’s worse.” Fred smirked. I suppose that was true. I brightened. “But only a little.”

Ah. That… was fair.

“Fred.” I looked over at her.

“Wes?” She smiled.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. Two months ago, I would never have been so bold. But Fred knew that I had no designs on her anymore, so this couldn’t make her uncomfortable. Or at least, I was relatively confident it wouldn’t. “I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“Wes, c’mon.” Fred shook her head, squeezing my hand. “You haven’t-”

“I was much too worried about upsetting you, and not concerned enough with taking care of you. The way friends should. The way you’ve always taken care of me.” I paused. “I want you to know… I intend to be available from now on. Emotionally, temporally, the whole gamut.”

“Wesley…” I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Fred smile so broadly, so genuinely. She looked… _moved._

“And… and I don’t think things have been alright for you recently.” I swallowed, readying myself to enter very dangerous territory. “And I might be wrong, because as you said I am godawful at anything emotional, but if I’m right I want to _help_. So please, please, _please_ let me be there for you.”

“Wesley, I… I…” Fred sniffled slightly, then threw her arms around me. I collected my wits enough to hug her back. “I can’t express how… how you… _thank you_. That… that means the world to me.”

“That seems only fair.” I smiled. “Seeing as how you mean the world to me.” The best friend I could ever have asked for.

“It’s really not fair how much better you are at being eloquent than me.” Fred swallowed, shaking her head. “Do… do you write this stuff down in advance or-”

I laughed. “No, I don’t. It’s a pity though, I should, I’d be much better at it.”

“No, that was… that was perfect.” Fred smiled. “_Everything_ you said was perfect.”

“I could say something in response about a certain person I know being perfect.” I smiled. “But I rather think she might take exception and have a go at me for being too eloquent.”

“Oh, she would.” Fred beamed. “But… she’d also really appreciate it.”

“Fred,” I spoke softly. “Please tell me what’s been wrong.”

“I… I…” Fred broke eye contact and let out a deep sigh. I blinked slightly, eyes feeing very dry. How long had I gone without blinking? “I don’t want to say.”

“Fred,” I squeezed her gently. “Whatever is bothering you, I can try to help. I want to help.”

“But… but if I tell you…” Fred swallowed, looking back to me. “It’ll _hurt_ you. If I tell you, you’ll be hurting.”

“You’re hurting now.” I murmured. “Fred, you haven’t been… what I mean is, you’ve been down for months. Let me help you back up. I don’t mind sharing this burden.”

“No, Wes, I mean I… telling you…” Fred’s face was serious, worried, anxious all at once. What was it? I couldn’t fathom what she was so worried to tell me. “It _really_ will hurt you. I swear, I’m not just being difficult.”

“I believe you. But I don’t care.” I said truthfully. “You have _always_ been there for me. You have gone above and far beyond the call of duty for one stuffy Englishman. If telling me will help you, I want you to tell me.”

“I… I think it would help.” Fred said quietly.

“Go ahead.” I glanced meaningfully at her arms, wrapped around me. This was an exceptionally long friendly hug. But very nice. “You have me captive.”

“Are you really sure?” Fred swallowed. “I… once I say this… it can’t be taken back.”

“Don’t take it back.” I paused deliberately. “Let it _all_ out. Stop bottling this up. I _want_ to help you.”

“Okay.” Fred took several deep breaths, then looked at me nervously. “Sorry. I’m… I’m just psyching myself up a little. This is… very scary.”

“Sharing secrets is never easy.” I nodded. “Take as long as you need.”

Fred took one last deep breath and stood up straight, closing her eyes. She positioned her head straight forwards (looking over one of my shoulders) and opened her eyes. Fred looked determined. “Wesley, I… the puppets!”

“Puppets?” I frowned.

“Smile Time! Look!” Fred disentangled herself and I spun around to look at the still muted screen. That puppet, Polo - dear God, _why_ could I remember his name? - was standing pressed up against the TV screen. He was saying something. Something definitely not in time with the song the others were singing in the background.

“You genius.” I muttered, turning up the volume on a hunch. Just like that, Polo was back with the others. Mute the screen, and he was at the front. “The song is a cloaking spell, hiding the targeted effect of the spell.”

“Can you trace it back to the source?” Fred - who’d somehow found time to put her glasses on - looked at me.

“Only if we were able to isolate the specific broadcast wave carrying the cloaking spell.” I frowned. “But that’s next to impossible, I mean the level of accuracy required is well beyond the instruments-”

Fred coughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, right.” I nodded. “Genius. Of course.”

“Shall we get on that?” Fred smiled.

“Yes, do that.” I nodded. “I’ll call Gunn, get an armed response team ready to raid that studio once we find the source of the magic. Just find the signal.”

“Done.” Fred nodded, bustling towards some instruments.

“Fred!” I called out. She turned around, smiling inquisitively. “We’re going to finish the talk. Later. Once we save the kids?”

“Yeah.” Fred looked suddenly nervous. “I mean, if you’re still sure you want to. Later, that is.”

“I will.” I promised.

Fred would suffer in silence no longer.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Brilliant.” I smiled. “That’s marvellous. Thank all of them for all their hard work.” I put down the phone and sat back in my chair. I felt a strange urge to rest my feet on the desk. I repressed it. 

“Good news?” Fred sipped my cup of coffee - she’d finished off her own just a minute ago - before putting it back down on the edge of my desk. I peered into it hopefully: alas, it was empty.

“Oh, just the hospital.” I couldn’t contain my grin. “It seems quite a few kids are coming out of their comas all of a sudden.”

“That’s wonderful!” Fred sat down and smiled. “Kind of makes it all worth it? The long hours, the moral compromises-”

“The Americans.” I added, grinning.

“-the British people who are _somehow_ convinced they’re really funny…” Fred shot back without missing a beat, smirking. “That was good work.”

“To good work.” I raised an imaginary glass, then spoke more softly. “And good friends.”

“I’l drink to that.” Fred frowned. “Or would, if had an actual glass to drink from or some… sorry. Clink!”

We clinked imaginary glasses and I smiled, walking over to the sofa pushed against the wall of my office, I gestured at one of the comfy chairs and Fred sat down in it. “Can I get you something to drink?” I offered. “Tea? Orange juice? Whiskey?”

“No.” Fred fidgeted, looking at her lap. “No, thank you.”

“In that case.” I paused. “If you’re still ready to talk… then I’m here to listen.”

Fred looked less than confident.

“Fred… are you still agonising about telling me because you think it’ll hurt me?” I asked gently. She nodded glumly. I sighed: how best to put this? “Fred…” I leaned forwards, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “Your happiness means far too much to me for me to sacrifice it over some fear - however rational - that whatever you have to say might distress me.”

“Hurt. _Hurt_, not distress.” Fred mumbled.

“Fred,” I said gently. She eventually made eye contact. “Please tell me.” I did my best attempt at a reassuring smile.

Fred nodded.

She swallowed.

She fiddled agitatedly with the strands of her hair. 

She drew a deep breath, and made deliberate eye contact.

“I… I love you.” She whispered, voice almost breaking.

I blinked. “Well, of _course_, Fred.” I smiled and shook my head, feeling a profound sense of worry disappear. God, this was easy. Cordelia had just been making it look hard. “I love you too, Fred. All of us, we all… you’re like a sister to-”

“_No._” Fred shook her head and I trailed off. Fred sighed, swallowed again, and made eye contact. “Wesley, I don’t just love you, I… I’m _in love_ with you.”

My mouth opened and closed of its own accord. This… no. 

I shook my head. “You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not.” Fred whispered.

This didn’t make sense. “No, you are very much mistaken.” I shook my head more firmly. I… I’d been wrong about her and Spike, I admit, but there was no way that- “Fred, there’s no way that-”

“You’re so handsome when you read!” Fred blurted out. I blinked. What did that- “It’s like… like the weight of the world just… just falls off your shoulders when you read. There’s this… this wonder in your eyes, this sparkle, how… fascinated you are by any real book and… and… do you remember the night you read to me?”

“Of course.” My throat felt very dry, why was it dry? And my skin, it was hot but so prickly. But my office was air conditioned, I couldn’t feel hot, and I’d had plenty of water so my throat couldn’t feel dry, and _Fred could not love me._ That was _not_ possible, it was-

“The night of the storm. The big storm.” Fred folded her arms and shuddered. “Four days back on Earth, and along comes the mother of all storms. And… and in Pylea the storms were… every time I nearly died - _really_ nearly died - was in a storm. The really big creatures come out during storms, the ones that rip apart a hillside or a cave for the littlest morsel, and there was no protection from the lightning, the swarms of flying creatures and beasts fled into caves for shelter so I couldn’t stay in my cave! I had to go out and… and hide in ditches, in swamps, covered in mud and animal filth to try and hide, and sometimes storms lasted for days and I was so cold… so when the storm hit the hotel, I was so _frightened_.”

“You were in my office.” I managed.

“Your office was right next to both the major exits, lots of things to hide behind, plenty of improvisable weapons.” Fred spoke softly. “You found me in there. I don’t know why you came but… you found me hiding under your desk, armed with a pencil and…”

“I sat down.” I swallowed.

“You sat down.” Fred smiled ever so slightly. “Not on the chair, or the sofa, or the desk… With me. You handed me a cushion without saying anything and you made yourself comfortable. You understood how I felt, what I’d gone through, how pointless and painful it would have been to fight it then… You dug snacks out of your bag and gave them to me. I didn’t say thank you, I… I didn’t say anything. I rarely did, back then. And then you said-”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“This is far too miserable a night to be here, wouldn’t you agree?” I spoke slowly, carefully. I couldn’t startle her.

Fred’s eyes, wild and nervous and wide, snapped to mine. Fred nodded in a swift, jerky fashion, nibbling on some of the biscuits I’d brought down.

“We should escape somewhere else.” I opened my bag. 

Fred froze opposite me, then shook her head vigorously. That syrupy southern voice poured forth in a jumbled sentence. “No, I… this is safe, this is _nice_, we shouldn’t, I can’t leave-“

“What if we could escape without moving?” I offered, smiling warmly. “Go somewhere nice and warm, with kind friends, and enchanting strangers, without leaving this room?”

Fred stared at me for a moment. Then she nodded. “I’d like that.” Fred whispered. “I… I miss all those things.”

“I have just the thing.” I withdrew my tattered, read-a-thousand-times paperback from my bag. “Have you read this?” I showed it to Fred.

“Twelve point four times.” 

“Perfect. Like an old friend, then.” I opened to the first page, then paused. “May I?”

Fred nodded ever so slightly.

I cleared my throat. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means…”

Not a cave in a hell world. Not a lonely, fraught, enclosed space under a desk. Somewhere else. Somewhere different because she had a friend. I motioned encouragingly.

“… comfort.” Fred said quietly.

“Spot on.” I smiled.

“Keep going!” Fred said suddenly, perhaps a second later. She immediately looked away from me. “… please. I… if you don’t mind.”

“Excellent idea.” I cleared my throat and continued to read.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“I’ve thought about that moment a lot.” I couldn’t stop now, I had to keep going, I was committed. The words were racing, falling over themselves to get out of my head, to make themselves heard. “What it says about who you are.”

“Fred, you are _mistaken_.” Wesley was pale. Almost ashen. 

“You understood me in a moment.” I swallowed. “You… you knew that it wasn’t the time to try to change me. Not like Cordy, Charles, Angel. They all wanted to fix me. You knew I needed time. You knew I had to fix _myself._ But just because I was afraid, you… you didn’t want me to be alone or unhappy. You stayed all night. You fell asleep sometime during the escape from Mirkwood.”

“You started reading after the Misty Mountains.” Wesley reported almost mechanically. “My voice… so scratchy.”

“The most words I’d spoken in _years_.” I couldn’t keep the smile off my face at the memory. The sense of companionship… and of _triumph._ “That was the night I realised I wasn’t going back. That I began taking small steps in the right direction. Because of you. I… I’ve never been good at expressing emotion, and… well… definitely not then. I couldn’t articulate what that meant to me. Once the storm passed, you were passed out under the desk.”

“I woke up under a blanket.”

“It was the least I could do. I wrote a thank-you note too.” 

Wesley just stared at me numbly.

God, my throat felt so dry. “You… I can’t stop thinking about you, Wesley. Every conversation I have with you… it feels electrically charged. Like the words are lightning. You’re so funny, so intelligent, so sweet, _endearing,_ and… and… you make me feel…”

Endless days and sleepless nights. Corporate corridors and sterile laboratories. Working myself to the bone to try and desperately eke some good, some _meaning_ out of this awful place. Everything grey, dull, soulless, one week blurring to the next… 

It was so empty.

“… alive.” My voice was barely above a whisper. Wesley looked beyond shocked. 

“No…” Wesley said weakly, shaking his head. But the fight had gone out of him.

He believed me.

“I’m a stuffy, apologetic, ridiculous Brit who can’t say two sentences without insulting you. I… I betrayed all of you, abandoned the team. I slept with _Lilah!"_

“I don’t care what you did with her.” I shook my head. “You were alone and I… I had no idea how you felt for so long, I _flaunted_ Charles in front of you, I had no idea how I was hurting you… and then I was… I was so stupid. To push you away because of her, to let Lilah come between us…”

“How long?” Wesley sagged slightly on the sofa, resting his face in his hands. I felt a stab of pain. “How long have you…”

“I knew after Halloween.” God, it felt a lifetime ago. “God, Halloween. That party. That was the most fun I’d had in years, Wesley. Being with you, getting to be myself… I was going to kiss you, Wes.”

“What?” Wesley looked up, eyes wide. “No, no! I spent the weeks before Halloween angering you beyond belief! I couldn’t say two sentences to you without infuriating you! You told me that night… the night we found Spike… you said there would _never_ be anything between us.”

“I _never_ said _that!_” I jumped to my feet, brow furrowing, wracking my brain. What on earth was he talking about?? “NO! What are you talking about?”

“You were clever with how you said it!” Wesley shot to his feet, eyes fiery. “We’re all here to do our jobs? No room for office romances? Under any bloody circumstances whatsoever! That’s what you said!”

What was he-

The lifts! _That’s _what he thought I was saying?! That’s why he’d avoided me for _weeks?_ Why he hadn’t stayed with me after we rescued Nina, and all of us had dinner together?

“That was _SAM!”_ I almost screamed, throwing my arms up. “I couldn’t _stand her!_ I did _not_ get angry when you talked to me Wesley, I got angry when you spoke _incessantly_ about her because I was _jealous_ and I didn’t realise! I wanted you to myself and she was _competition_, but of course I didn’t see that I wanted you, so I… I just told you to get rid of her, to tell her there was no room for anything between the two of you! I wasn’t trying to tell you there was no room for something between _us!_ There was!”

The words just slipped out. “There _is._”

Wesley recoiled slightly, bracing himself against the desk corner, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed. “Stop.”

“I wanted you to stay with me. After Nina, when I was drunk, do you remember?” I shook my head. “I made such a damn _fool_ of myself. Tackling you into hugs and giggling at every other word you said! I wanted you to stay with me, but you were pulling away, and I know why _now,_ because of what you thought I said but it… it felt like you didn’t want to spend time with me. Like you preferred _her._” 

I took a step towards him. “Remember Halloween? Psyche component storage?”

“You were drunk.” Wesley’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Both those times, you were drunk. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything.” Another step. “Remember how I talked about being better friends? Spending more time together? How we embraced? You had a question, and I told you to whisper it in my ear?”

“Yes.” His voice broke.

“I was seconds away from kissing you, but then you… you asked me about…” It felt like such a stupid thing to have let get in the way of us. “…about Sam. And I… didn’t take that well.”

One last step. Just inches away. “Wesley… the way I feel about you… it hasn’t gone away. Only gotten stronger. Deeper.” I swallowed. His eyes were still closed. “Wesley… please say something.”

He swallowed. He shifted slightly, placing his back to me. I felt a wrench in my chest, and knew what was coming, knew the words that were about to-

“I love _Sam_.” I knew it had been coming. Known almost beyond the barest shadow of a doubt. But it was still like he’d plunged a dagger made of ice into my chest. “She needs me.”

I nodded, realising my eyes were damp. How long had they been damp for? “I… I know.”

“I’m all she has.” Wesley turned to face me and opened his eyes. Raw blue eyes. “And she’s my world.”

“I know.” I swallowed. “I… I’ve seen.”

“Fred, if… if I’d had any idea… I didn’t know, I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Just like me and Charles. I’d hurt him. He’d hurt me. Nobody at fault but ourselves. But cruel fate.

“You know now.” The words fought their way out. This hadn’t been my plan. I’d been planning to tell him, to remove this enormous weight, to relieve some of the pain. Not to split them apart. I hadn’t been planning that.

Even if I wanted it. Even if I wanted him. More than anything.

“Wesley, the Partners wanted this. Wanted you to find her.” I swallowed. “Wanted her to trap you here. This was their plan. Even if she isn’t working for them, even if Angel and Spike manage to free her from them, Sam is…”

“I love her.” Wesley sank back onto his desk. “That… is reality, Fred. And all the talking in the world can’t change that.”

“I had to tell you.” God, I felt like I was hyperventilating. “I just… it was a weight on my shoulders, it was _crushing_ me.”

“Is the weight gone?” Wesley looked me in the eye intently. “Did this help?”

“Yes.” I nodded, wiping my face clean. Obviously I still loved him, obviously not having him was a constant, almost-unbearable pain in my chest, but… but I felt better. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Wesley nodded. “I will never do anything to hurt Sam.”

“I know.”

Wesley made eye contact. “We can never speak of this again. If we do, then I… I… we can’t.”

“I understand.” I nodded, feeling the pain intensify a hundredfold. “That’s… that’s… I… I am… I’m fine with that.” I could deal with that. If it was what he wanted. He’d done everything I wanted, stayed away when I wanted him to. 

I could return the favour. It was the least I could do.

_“Thank you.”_ Wesley breathed, sagging. “Thank you.”

“But first, I…” I swallowed. I felt short of breath. The world had shrunk around me. Collapsed to just me and him. Just us. “I have to know. If we’re never going to talk about this again… then I have to know _now._”

“Know what?” Wesley whispered, eyes pained.

“You _know_ what.” I trembled.

I saw in his eyes that he understood.

“Of course I do, Fred.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“Of course I do.” My voice broke as I answered the question. Of course I still loved her. How could I have ever stopped loving Fred? Her warmth, her kindness, her laugh, her wit, her brilliant mind, her affection, her perfection.

But I also loved Sam. She needed me. I would _never_ betray her. Never. Even if every cell in my body, my gut, was screaming at me to lean forwards, to make Fred smile, to kiss her. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. 

I understood why she hadn’t wanted to tell me. Everything hurt. My heart, my mind, my conscience, my very soul shook under the burden.

“Thank you.” Fred smiled a shaky, unbearably sad smile. “Wesley, please promise me something?”

Once I would have told her ‘anything’. Now I couldn’t. “What?”

“Be happy with her.” Fred turned away slightly, blinking twice. “Make her smile. Let yourself smile. And laugh. Live every day to the fullest. Promise me.”

“I promise.” My heart was in agony. Fred was miserable, I was making her miserable… but making her happy would rip Sam’s entire word apart, her whole life had been a lie, I couldn’t abandon her. I wouldn’t. I loved her.

“Thank you.” Fred cast her gaze downwards. “I’m… I’ll give you some space. For a while. If that’s what you want. I’ll follow your lead. However close you want to be, that’s how we’ll be. Best friends, friends, acquaintances-”

No. No, our friendship was important. To both of us. Even if it hurt, I would- “Fred-”

“No. Not now. You feel… obliged.” Fred cut me off gently. She knew me so well. “You think about it. I’m… I’m just gonna go.”

“It’s for the best.” I managed.

Fred took a deep breath.

She slowly turned around. 

One slow, steady step at a time she made her way across the office.

One hand came to rest on the door handle.

Her knuckles turned white.

She looked at me, brown eyes soft and yearning, full of visible pain. “Never again?” Her voice trembled ever so slightly.

I fought down a thousand screaming voices of doubt and disagreement. “Never again.” I forced out the words.

Fred nodded.

She opened the door. 

She glanced over her shoulder at me and drew a deep breath.

Fred marched from the office and closed the door behind her.

I collapsedbackwards, bracing myself against the desk, breathing heavily, the whole world spinning.

Shame descended on me, wrapping me in a shroud. I closed my eyes and howled with frustration. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, I couldn’t make both of them happy, why had I made all the wrong choices, why couldn’t things have turned out differently, why couldn’t they-

“Wesley!” The door to my office swung open and awful guilt sluiced through my veins. I looked up as Sam bounced into the room, the broadest smile in all creation plastered on her face. 

“Sam.” I forced a smile. “You seem-”

“I’m _FREE!”_ She squealed and raced towards me, tackling me into a hug I had no time to prepare myself for. Her emerald eyes shone with happiness. “They didn’t tell me what they were doing so the Partners wouldn’t stop it, but you must have known, and it worked! They’re not in my head, Wes, I can’t hear them, they can’t see…” 

Sam trailed off, eyes widening. “Wes… what’s wrong? Are you okay?” She stepped back, hands shifting to my shoulders, eyes sweeping me up and down.

I had to tell Sam. I had to. Sam deserved to know. I couldn’t hide this from her, it would be… impossibly wrong. “Nothing has changed between us. But I have a confession. Something I need to tell you about.” 

Sam blinked.

“Fred.” Sam whispered. I felt my heart sink into a dark abyss as the remaining vestiges of Sam’s earlier joy drained away. “It was Fred, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but I love _you._” I hugged her. “Please, let me explain.”

“Promise you’ll be honest?” Sam whispered. “I… this is Fred, we’re talking about.”

“I promise.” I nodded. “And I promise I will _never_ leave you.”

“I love you.” Sam cupped my cheek. “Tell me what happened.”

I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wise individual would have scheduled chapters so you got something nice and happy on Valentine's day...
> 
> I am not wise. I apologise. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!!


	13. Consequences

**Fred**

I rested my hands on the the top of my chair and leaned back on them, gazing thoughtfully out through my office windows. It was kind of a grey day. Which made sense. What was that called? Pathetic fallacy. Emphasis on_ pathetic_.

I blew out a single breath, frowning as a strand of hair fell into my vision. I reached up and tucked it behind one ear. 

I felt better. Much better. And also worse, because Wesley had taken it much worse than I had hoped. I mean, my two hopes. Because there had been the rational hope and the irrational hope. The rational hope had been that he would understand, and think of it as kind of sweet - like I was a precocious schoolgirl, which honestly felt apt right now - but irrelevant to his life. The irrational hope wasn’t something I was going to think about. That would make me go all melancholy again.

Well, _more_ melancholy again.

I tapped a slow rhythm on the chair and pondered. Spike had popped by. Sam was all better. Fully cut off from the Senior Partners. Which really was wonderful on so many levels: she was free, she got to keep working here, and Wesley got to be happy with her. Three big ticks. It also meant the Partners’ plans were well and truly scuppered. Well, more than they were once I uncovered their deception. Sam couldn’t replace me. She couldn’t be influenced by them, threatened, or manipulated - magically - into serving them. So I was safe. Which was nice.

“Guess this was the best you could do, huh Cordy?” I looked up at the clouds thoughtfully. “Thanks. I mean, you totally saved me, right? Would have been Doomed with a capital ‘D’ without ya. So thanks.”

I sighed a frustrated sigh. Part of me wished Cordy had made sure I got my act together before Halloween. But there I was wishing again. The SS Wesley had sailed, and I was without a ticket. Wesley would not be mine. Not today, not ever. He belonged with Sam, and that was the end of it.

I closed my eyes and came to terms with it.

I straightened up, pushing forwards off the chair. Time to move on with my life. Stop pining. Stop moping. Take Spike’s advice - yelled at me from the shower - to get a bloody life. I smiled: today was a Friday. Friday evening, even. Lorne would be free. Spike too, definitely. Hell, maybe even Charles. Probably Angel.

I’d do a whip around. We’d all go out for drinks together. Dinner. A movie. Something nice. Some dancing. A good time. I needed more of those. I had my friends. And some day, once I was sure he’d come to terms with it, I’d have Wesley as a friend too. And Sam.

But for now? Plenty of fish in the sea. There were some miles left on my clock yet, and I was gonna make good use of them. “Screw work.” I grinned, picking up my in-tray and sliding it into a drawer. Everybody else in the lab had gone home, why the hell not me? I was gonna go upstairs right now, and drag my friends (minus Sam and Wes who I imagined would be ‘busy’) out for drinks, dinner, and dancing. Maybe even a movie.

Then again, who needed entertainment when I could giggle at Angel dancing?

I grabbed my jacket off my coat-hook and tossed it over one shoulder, turned to grab my purse from my desk, stashed my phone in one pocket, and grinned. This was gonna be _wild._

“Fred.” A chill passed over me.

I slowly turned around. Sam was standing in the doorway to my office. It occurred to me that I’d never seen Sam look anything approaching cross. Confused, happy, cheerful, frustrated…

But now she looked cross. Arms folded, gaze steely. Ah.

“Sam.” If a more awkward silence had taken place in my lifetime, I hadn’t noticed it. She stayed in the doorway. “I, umm, guess we should talk.”

“Seems that way.” Sam took a step forward into my office proper, not closing the door behind her.

“I… umm…” Oh, lord, how did I even start talking about this? “Wesley told you?”

“He did.” Sam tilted her head, and I saw her eyes change just for a moment. For a second, she looked worried. Scared. Terrified. “I just don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to get.” I tossed my jacket onto the chair and held up both hands in surrender. “Sam… I’m not trying to steal Wesley from you.”

One ridiculously pretty eyebrow rose several inches. I fought down a momentary and ridiculous surge of envy at Sam’s perfect, custom-built body. “I must have got the wrong idea from you _confessing your love_ to him.”

“I just couldn’t keep it secret anymore.” I drooped. “It was too much weight to carry. Look, just… imagine for a second that you’d been the one to figure out the Partners created you, right?”

“Right.” Sam looked sceptical.

“And imagine you couldn’t tell anyone. Anyone at all. How would that feel?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “… it would eat me up inside.” She mumbled.

“Right.” I nodded. “That’s how I felt about keeping my feelings all bottled up inside for so long, I just… I had to get them out. I needed… closure.”

“Closure?” Sam frowned slightly (god, she was so unfairly gorgeous).

“I am done with this nonsense.” I smiled reassuringly. “I am done moping around like a sorry sack of sadness, quietly hoping that someday things might work out between Wesley and I. Sam… I am really, really happy for you. I swear. You make Wesley happier than I have _ever_ seen him, and well… you two kind of are _made_ for each other, pardon the unfortunate implications.”

Sam flushed slightly. I pressed on. “I promise you, Sam, that I am not going to come between you. Further, I am going to get over my feelings if it bloody kills me.” I grinned. “If it takes me going to Vegas for a month, then I’ll do it. I am gonna get clean. I am _not_ going to get between you two. You two are… you’re just the…”

I felt one last faint stab of pain. “You’re the sweetest couple I’ve ever seen.” It was true. “I mean the way you look at each other, the way you act, how-”

“THANK GOD!” Sam tackled me into a hug. I stumbled back several steps, taken completely by surprise.

“Umm…” I felt very confused.

“I was so worried I was gonna have to try and be tough, or compete with you, or something.” Sam pulled back, looking stricken. “I have _no_ idea how to be tough! I mean, I was practically hyperventilating in the corridor trying to psych myself up to confront you. God, it’s been a stressful afternoon. I felt like having a heart attack and I barely said twenty words to you. I _suck_ at fighting.”

“Me too.” I hugged her back. “Sam you have nothing to worry about from my angle. I promise. Cross my heart. Swear by relativity. Etcetera.”

“Thank you.” Sam’s brow furrowed. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Like ripping off a bandaid.” I made the motion. “It’s torn off now. Step one is done.”

“Step two is Vegas?” Sam grinned.

I laughed. “No, no. Vegas is the absolute last resort. I’m just gonna go out with some of the others tonight.” I froze. “I mean, I figured you wouldn’t want to come. Thought you two might want to ah… you know…”

“Yeah.” Sam flushed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“We should stop hugging now.” I suggested.

“Probably.” Sam stepped out of the hug and smiled sheepishly. “I guess I made a real fool of myself, huh?”

“Pfft. Making a fool of oneself, exhibit A.” I pointed to myself with a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really, I was a total stereotype. Not even my normal stereotype.” Sam frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“I tend to do that as well. No worries.” I waved her off with a smile. “I do need you to promise me one thing though.”

“Oh, shoot.” Sam smiled.

“Promise me you’ll take care of Wesley.” I felt a soft pang. “He… he’s my best friend. I want him to be happy.”

“Oh, easy. I promise.” Sam smiled. “Cross my heart.” She did so.

“I mean, it’s mostly standard stuff.” I smiled jokingly. “Good tea.” 

“Lots of books.”

“Plenty of kissing.”

“Make sure he eats enough greens.”

“Try to make sure he gets at least some sun.” I rolled my eyes and smiled. “He’d stay shut in the library the whole time if you et him. And _don’t_ let him go all fearless protector on you! Remind him you can take care of yourself. You’ve got superpowers, if the folder was right.”

“Superpowers. Pfft. Overrated. You should have seen me, I went down like a ton of bricks when I got whacked by one itty bit of stone.” Sam shook her head, smiling conspiratorially and talking casually. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get too protective. Last thing I need is him killing somebody for me.”

I winced at the reference to Charles and Seidel. I was sure Sam hadn’t meant any offence, but God, that had been a- 

“How’d you know about that?” A frown stole onto my face. Because even though she hadn’t meant any offence, that was private and personal, how had she-

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Sam looked aghast, clamping one hand over her mouth for a moment, then removing it before launching into speech. “Wesley let slip! Accidentally, he was drunk, we’d been drinking for hours and we were playing twenty questions and it just came up, I’m so _sorry_, I just wasn’t thinking.”

My frown deepened. Wesley hadn’t known, had he? I was almost sure he hadn’t known. Charles and I knew, obviously, and Charles had told me after the mess with Jasmine that Angelus had figured it out, but Wesley hadn’t known. I was sure he hadn’t figured it out. I’d never told him, Charles had never told him, obviously Angel hadn’t, so how had he worked it out? Just deduced it from seeing Charles and I interact? I mean, even leaving aside the fact that Wesley was _terrible_ at reading relationships (I mean, Spike and me, _seriously?_), he hadn’t been there immediately afterthe event like Angel had been and there were a million other explanations for things going south between Charles and I. But he must have figured it out _somehow_, otherwise how would Sam know?

Unless…

No. No, that was crazy. Completely crazy. 

How long had I been silent for?

“Oh, no worries.” I banished the frown from my face and smiled reassuringly at Sam. ‘I know you didn’t mean any offence.” Wesley couldn’t have figured it out, it wasn’t possible and there was no way, no matter how drunk he’d gotten - and god knows his alcohol tolerance was like a viking's - that he’d ever carelessly or intentionally reveal anything so personal about me, a deep dark secret, he _wouldn’t_. 

Which meant Sam had found out another way. Why would she lie? Why lie? I felt my heart speed up, could feel my blood pumping uncomfortably fast in my veins.

“Are you sure?” Sam chewed her lip, looking nervous. “Are we… y’know… good?”

“Of course!” I laughed. It sounded slightly too high. Oh, god. “We’re totally good. Super-good. Two hundred and fifty percent good, give or take a standard margin of error. We’re so good it’s crazy. Good as Glinda, good witch of the North!” Oh, _god_, I had to stop talking, please let me stop talking.

“Good?” Sam smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

“You got it.” I beamed. I couldn’t keep my eyes flicking momentarily to the door. Barely four steps away. Just keep calm, Fred. You can think about this once you’re out of here. Just walk on out theopen door. “I’m gonna… just… y’know. Drinks! I gotta invite everyone out, or we’ll be late, or people won’t come, and those are both terrible things to have happen. So I’m gonna just walk out.”

“Okay!” Sam giggled, eyes full of mirth. 

I forced my smile wider and - feeling self-conscious and probably walking like a lunatic - approached the door.

When I was one step away, the door slammed in my face. But nobody had touched it. _Thunk._ That sounded like the door locking, but that was impossible, because the keys were in my purse, and not in the door, and the blinds couldn’t be _closing_, that was impossible, because nobody was touching the little hanging cord thing-y that closed them, but they were closing and now I couldn’t see out into the lab at all (and nobody else could see in) as the little drape-y thing hanging at the top of my door fell down. I heard something that sounded like my office’s open window closing.

My throat felt very dry. I could definitely hear the blood pumping in my ears, feel my heart hammering against my ribcage. I swallowed and slowly turned around on the spot.

Sam’s arms were folded, brow neatly furrowed, cold and calculating emerald eyes - since when had her eyes been _cold or calculating,_ they had always been warm, soft, lovely eyes but now they were scary - fixed on me. “Gosh darn it.” She spoke with an air of total nonchalance. “You got me.”

_You got me._

An awful, horrifying sensation of dread poured into my veins. No. No, this didn’t… it didn’t make any sense, this wasn’t right. Sam couldn’t be… Vail had cut her off from the Partners, and she’d never been on their side, hadn’t known about any of it, so I hadn’t got her.

Unless she had been.

“What are you talking about?” I tried to fake a convincing confused expression. “Sam, I don’t know-”

“Your talents really don’t lie in acting, Fred, so feel free to cut it out and quit embarrassing yourself.” Sam took two casual steps and hopped up to sit on the side of my desk, crossing her legs nonchalantly, unyielding eyes boring into mine. “Guess it’s always the little things that get you, huh?”

“No…” I whispered. I was struck dumb. What was happening, this didn’t make any sense, I was just having a nightmare, that was it. That made more sense than… than Sam being…

“I mean, gosh. Months of acting, right.” Sam sucked in air through her teeth, and a half second later, a stunningly bright smile was on her face, voice suddenly infused with excitable energy. “I mean, I just spend months and _months_ running rings around all of y’all with my goody two-shoes, sweet adorable act and nobody even gets close to busting my little secret. Then I make one comment about something Wesley apparently doesn’t know about, and blow it. _Crazy_ old world, huh?” Sam beamed at me, eyes bright.

She was in on it. She was in on it. Sam was in on it.

“You were in on it from the start.” I said quietly, mind racing. “You knowingly worked for the Partners. The memories were a cover story, to help you blend in, but you _never_ believed them. You knew they were fake.”

“Keep going, keep going!” Sam smiled, resting her chin on one hand. “This is _fun_! Watching you think, that is. I mean Lord knows you’re not all that good at it, but hey, keep trying, it’s endearing. Like a seal that can’t quite keep the ball balanced on its nose, y’know?”

A _seal_? Indignation rose up alongside fear inside me, before being joined by something else. Something hot and enjoyable.

Righteous fury!

“You knew from the beginning!” I yelled, a tiny part of me noting that antagonising her probably wasn’t wise, but drowned out by the much larger part of me that was baying for blood, for vengeance.

“Yep.” Sam kept smiling.

“You’re _evil!”_ I growled. God, I really _had_ been right all along. Completely by accident and based on no proof whatsoever at first but… but I’d been right! I’d sussed her out! God, everybody was getting an ‘I told you so!’! “God, I knew it. I _knew_ there was something off about you, you duplicitous, evil,harlot!”

“First of all.” Sam held up one finger and pouted. “Hurtful. Second of all, need I remind you that I’m _based on you,_ so you just served yourself up a big old insult. Third, _knew_ is kind of a strong word, right? I mean, knowledge is justified true belief. You had true belief, but it was irrational and based on jealousy, _not_ justified.”

“I… well…” She admittedly had me there. “Yes, but I was still right!” God, I should have been more confident. I should have known there was nobody as seemingly perfect as she was. Nobody that pretty, that smart, all-loving, funny, and adorkable. 

“And I’m _really_ proud of you for that.” Sam smiled indulgently, clapping her hands together. “You clever little human, you! I mean, obviously if our positions were reversed I’d have figured this out ages ago, but I’m me and you’re _you_, so there’s no shame in being a ways behind.”

“You’re pretty high and mighty for a watered-down clone.” I spat. Sam’s eyes flashed dangerously, but I couldn’t care less. “That must really rankle, huh? Your memories, your personality, even your appearance… all based on _me_.”

“_Improved.”_ Sam’s smile was sweet, but there was frost in it. “Improved _from_ you. Upgraded.”

I snorted. “Please. More like a cheap knockoff from hell. Let’s take inventory, huh? I’m smarter than you - obviously, because I figured you out -, I’ve got about half an inch on you height-wise, I didn’t have to copy my entire personality from somebody else, and I _have a soul_.” My nose wrinkled. “And don’t get me started on your hair. Blonde? What are you, a cheerleader?”

Sam wasn’t really smiling any more. I mean, her lips were turned upwards, those perfect teeth on display, but there was _zero_ warmth behind it. “As far as smart goes? I’d argue that playing you and your entire team like a fiddle is proof that unlike you, I actually understand how people think. I also know _everything_ there is to know about the arcane, and physics too. If you were wondering.”

“Yeah, right. Like you’re even half as-”

“Do you know the last digit in pi?” Sam smirked. “Because I do.”

“That’s not poss-”

“Oh, it is.” Sam kept ticking things off on an imaginary list. “I use a similar personality to yours for cover because it’s child’s play to manipulate people by playing harmless, lovely little Sam who _couldn’t_ hurt a fly. As far as looks go? Well the less said about _this_-” 

Sam was almost a blur as she crossed the space between us, one finger coming up to gently tap my nose. “The better. As far as hair goes, I think you’re just jealous that yours is a bark-coloured mess that always manages to look slightly damp, and never strays too far from boring and straight. If you were wondering, I don’t even need to brush my hair. Or wash it. Or any other part of me, for that matter. Everything works _exactly _the way I want it to.”

I couldn’t keep one hand from flying to my nose. There was nothing wrong with my nose, that was ridiculous. Was there? No, there couldn’t be. She was just-

“Although that’s not the only thing I have that you’re jealous of, hmm?” Sam’s gaze lingered meaningfully on the front of my cardigan and I flushed, folding my arms defensively. “You poor stick figure, huh? No wonder Gunn decided he’d had enough and slept with Gwen less than forty eight hours after you pulled the puppy eyes on him and _begged_ him to take you back.”

I did a double take, feeling myself flush bright red, that old shame coming back to haunt me. “How… how did you…” I’d just been lonely, afraid, wanting comfort, a taste of normality and Charles… Charles had always been easy. But nobody else had been there. Nobody at all, and-

Charles had slept with _Gwen?_

Sam pointed one finger at the roof, then tapped her temple with another and smiled conspiratorially. “Senior Partners, remember? I got a direct line. Anything they see, I can see. They were watching your hotel pretty close during the whole business with the Beast, so I saw every angle of your sad, torrid love triangle. Much as I hate to brag,” Sam dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m kind of their favourite. The only child who matches their cunning. Don’t tell Marcus.”

“What, you don’t care if I tell Eve?” I demanded, for lack of anything else to say.

“Oh, Eve’s dead.” Sam giggled, smile not faltering. My blood ran cold. “I killed her weeks ago. She knew _way_ too much. Even after you showed her the door, she was much too scared to say anything while I was nearby. Listening. So she fled. She probably thought if she stayed quiet, I’d let her live. _Dead _wrong.” 

“You’re a psycho.” I took a stumbling step backwards, swallowing. Sam didn’t follow me. “That’s another thing I’ve got that you don’t. I have a soul.”

Sam snorted. “Of course I’ve got a soul, can’t you read? It was in the file? Sumerian coalescence powder ringing any bells?”

“But… but that was a lie.” I frowned. “You’re evil.”

“And evil people can’t have souls?” Sam shook her head. “Honestly, you're like a cocker spaniel, Fred. Kind of cute, but not too bright.”

That was _rich_, coming from her! “Why would the Partners give you a soul?”

“So I could blend in, obviously.” Sam rolled her eyes, her tone becoming that of an exasperated schoolteacher. “First of all, having a soul is kind of integral to my act: if I didn’t have one, it would be way harder to pull of cute and bubbly. Any person without a soul… there’s an inherent _offness_ about them. People can tell if they spend long enough around them, it starts to unnerve them. Big no-no. Plus, there’s Lorne to consider. I was specially designed to counteract aura and mind-reading magics - anybody who tries just gets the cute Sam visual, puppies, hugs etcetera-”

I’d suggested that to the others, I’d known! God, this was so _frustrating!_

“- but a lack of a soul is kind of a big deal. Hard to cover up.” Sam shrugged. “So I have a soul. Emotions, the whole gamut. I just also have a job to do. Does that make sense to you now, Fred?” Her smile was beyond patronising.

“Well, for the record? Your soul?” I glared at her. “It sucks. It’s the worst soul in the _history_ of souls.”

“I think you’re biased Fred.” Sam smirked, twirling one lock of golden hair around a finger. “I think you’re jealous. Because I’ve got Wesley. And you’re a sad, lonely little scientist pining in her laboratory.” Oh, the anger was rising again.

Sam’s grin widened. “I mean, I didn’t exactly help with your feelings of rejection, I suppose. I may have deliberately rubbed it in a little. Or a lot. Remember the closet after Harmony locked us up? Convincing you to give me advice on seducing Wesley was _delicious._ The look in your eyes was just priceless.” She giggled. “Or should that be Wyndam-Pryce-less?”

“Some all powerful being you are, getting locked in a closet by Harmony.” I spat, leveraging all my willpower to keep myself from _smacking_ Sam as hard as I could.

“Oh, I let her beat me. Nothing wrong with the old-fashioned wounded gazelle gambit. You should have seen Wesley fussing over me all night after that. He’s just the sweetest.” Sam made a swooning motion and winked at me. “And of course, I’d already made good use of that tactic before. Remember Pavayne? How worried Wesley was about me? It was _so_ easy to get him to spend time with me after that. I monopolised practically his every waking moment, he fell over himself to do everything for me. He’s kind of got a saving people thing.”

Sam grinned. “Oh, just a brief aside? Remember when you walked in after he gave me that leather jacket and those trousers? I may have shrunk them with magic when I put them on. Just a teensy little bit. Enough so that even chivalrous Wesley was struggling to keep his eyes off me. An inspired idea on my part, I like to think. I’d offer to do something similar for you, but, well… wouldn’t really work for you, would it?”

Oh God. Wesley. Sam. She really _was_ evil, truly evil. Manipulating him, using him. And he had no idea. Nobody did. Except me.

“You _monster!”_ I screamed at her. “How could you do this? You know him better than _anyone!_ You know how kind he is, how sweet, how he wants only the best for everyone - including you, you bitch! - and you’re still manipulating him! _How could you do this to him?”_

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Do what to him?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” I demanded. “Deceive him. Manipulate him. Lie to him.”

“I make sure Wesley is very happy.” Sam crossed her arms.

“But you don’t…” God, how did you explain to someone evil that happiness was worth precious little, when it was all deliberately built on lies, when the person whispering sweet nothings in your ear thought _you_ were nothing, when they didn’t care about you, not really? “It’s a lie. What you say to him. You don’t _love_ him.”

“Oh, I do love him.” Sam shook her head firmly.

I blanched, feeling revulsion crawling up my throat. “What?”

“Senior Partners’ idea.” Sam shrugged. “Much easier for me to actually be in love with him than it would be for me to fake it constantly. I’ve loved him since I’ve known him - a little longer than that technically - unlike _some people who will remain nameless who left him alone and unloved for a very long time._”

“How _dare_ you?” I growled. “How dare you try to tell me what love-”

“I’m enamoured with just the oddest things about him.” A sigh escaped her lips, eyes going slightly vacant, lips curling into a small, _genuine-looking_ smile. “The way he dances. Elegant, but self-conscious. How clever he is, in a human sort of way. Of course, he’s so very handsome… and kind to me. Wes… he’s so incredibly endearing.”

Sam shook her head, shrugged and smiled at me with a ‘what-can-you-do’ expression. “It’s super weird. Having positive feelings, I mean, wow. He makes me go all fuzzy sometimes. I almost freaked out and broke cover the first time it happened, I thought he was casting a spell on me or something.”

My mouth opened and closed several times. I was utterly speechless.

“Being in love is one of the nicest things about humanity so far, I gotta say. Although food’s not bad, especially dessert - guess I got that from you - and alcohol can be super fun. Even if my tolerance is shameful.” Then Sam’s smile went wicked. “And I mean, sex. Of course. Wow. That. Is. Crazy. _So good._ Or maybe that’s just Wes. What do you reckon? Oh, of course: you wouldn’t know, would you?” Sam smiled sweetly.

I felt a crushing weight descend on my shoulders and looked desperately around the room. I was locked in here. With Sam. Who, according to the file, had super strength and durability. And - given the stunt she’d pulled telekinetically sealing us in here - probably knew how to apply that mystical knowledge of hers a whole lot more violently than she’d previously let on. The door was locked. There was nobody in the lab. I was stuck by the door, and she was between me and my desk. I had my purse - with my phone, maybe all of fifty dollars and a credit card in it, plus my house keys - and nothing else. 

My phone! If I could get the purse open without her seeing, call somebody, have them hear some of our conversation…

It was my only shot.

“What are you gonna do, now?” I backed up slightly, shifting my purse behind my back and fiddling with the zipper. damn, it was stuck. Just my luck. “I mean, I know your secret. Are you gonna kill me?”

Sam smiled patronisingly. “Trust me, if it was up to me when exactly to terminate your life, you’d be rotting several feet underground outside a barn in Texas. No, no. The Partners forbade me fromkilling you. It would compromise the larger mission.”

“The larger mission?” I frowned, then my eyes widened. “You mean-”

“Corruption from within.” Sam smiled. “It’s going excellently so far. None of you will leave Wolfram and Hart any time soon. And already decisions are being made that are leading your friends down all too dark paths.”

“You… you don’t make any of the decisions.” I protested weakly. The memory of Charles confessing that Sam had been in the team meetings, providing mystical advice, flooded my mind. “You’re… you’re not one of us.”

“I do. Subtly.” Sam leaned in and whispered. “And I very much am. Wesley saw to that.”

“I’m gonna tell them.” I pointed one finger at her. “Because you can’t kill me, you just said you can’t! And you can’t keep me here forever! I’m gonna go out there and tell them _everything_. Your plans will be ruined. And, oh, when the Partners find out, are they gonna be _pissed with you._”

“Well.” Sam frowned. “That does sound… exhausting.”

Then her smile widened. “I mean… _whatever_ can I do?” She started giggling, then clamped one hand over her mouth, followed by the other. She stopped a few seconds later.

I didn’t like her broad, knowing smile. Not one little bit. “What’s… what’s so funny?” I demanded.

“It’s funny because…” Sam stepped up to me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m just gonna rewrite your memories so you forget that _any _of this happened.” She beamed at me.

“No.” A horrible chill passed over me. “No! No, you can’t! You can’t do that!” Oh, God. It made an awful kind of sense. It was how they’d created her fake life. Altered the memories of those around her. It would make so much sense: why risk your elite undercover operative being exposed and all your plans being compromised, when you can just make sure she knows how to rewrite the memories of others? 

Oh God. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe I could fight it, try to remember! This was for Wesley’s sake, she couldn’t make me forget it! I had to tell him, I had to help him, he was in danger, she was _crazy_, she was a monster, I had to free him!

Sam giggled. “Done it before. About to do it now. Can do so again in future, if I so choose.”

“You can’t just-” I trailed off, her words sinking in. “What?” I whispered.

Sam smiled at me angelically.

“You… you rewrote my memories?” I said slowly.

Sam nodded, pressing one finger over her lips and making a ‘shush’ sound.

I wracked my brains desperately. I searched for anything out of place, anything at all since I’d met Sam. Anything before. Any memory that was disjointed, any missing fragments of time, anything at all to indicate she’d meddled with my mind.

Oh my god, she’d changed my memories. Changing somebody’s memories… memories made us who we were. If you could manipulate those… you could change someone’s very character. Turn them into anything. Into a monster.

What had she done to me?

“What… what did you do to me?” I demanded, hating the tremble in my voice. “When did you do it? _Answer me!_”

“I only did it twice.” Sam shrugged, acting like like she was talking about stealing some milk from a staffroom fridge rather than editing the fabric of my mind. “Once out of convenience, once out of necessity. Convenience… it was right after I shot that cyborg duplicate of Wesley’s dad - who was just _awful,_ wouldn’t you agree? - and we were waiting in Wesley’s office. You were determined to stick to me like glue, comforting me, trying to assuage my nonexistent guilt.”

Sam pursed her lips. “I figured it was just about the perfect time to go in for the kill. But of course, I couldn’t do that with you right there, could I? Especially since you’d finally worked out how you felt about my beloved. So I implanted the idea in your mind to go out and get me some supplies to make me feel better. Chocolate, books, etcetera. So off you dashed like a busy little bee. And I just waited patiently for the love of my life to walk into my waiting arms.” She smiled like a naughty schoolgirl. “It was _so_ easy."

Some of the knot of worry in my stomach unwound. That wasn’t so bad. It could have been much worse. She hadn’t fundamentally changed me, hadn’t done anything egregious, just used it to get me out of her way temporarily (which was _awful_ enough on its own, for the bloody record) but-

Sam was smiling very widely.

“What was the second time?” I said quietly, dreading the answer.

“Well, it was before the mess with the cyborg, so technically it was the first time. Nothing big.” Sam demurred. “All I did was take one _teensy_ little memory from you.”

“What did you do?” I yelled. I knew it was just what she wanted, but I couldn’t help myself. The way she was acting… whatever she’d done, it was clearly unspeakably wicked!

“Sure you want to know?” Sam asked in a singsong voice. “Last chance?”

“Tell me!”

“It was Halloween night.” Sam paused, then spoke incredibly slowly. “You and Wesley _kissed.”_

My mouth dropped opened. I struggled to verbalise. I had… Wesley had…

Wesley and I had _kissed_? “What?” My voice was barely a whisper. My world was spinning.

“In Psyche component storage.” Sam spoke torturously slowly. “I was out of the way for most of the night, thanks to Lorne. I’m pretty resistant to mental compulsion, but that was some powerful mojo he was throwing off. Didn’t even realise I’d been hit by it until too late. I was keeping an eye on the two of you mystically. Pretty normal for most of the night. You got drunk, did all the stuff you normally do while drunk, yada yada yada. _Then_ psyche component storage. You kiss Wesley, the two of you talk about it, kiss some more, then both of you get misty-eyed and start crying about how much you love each other… and none of that really fit with my agenda, so I shook off Lorne’s mojo, headed down there, wiped the incident from your memories, cleaned both of you up - because you both looked seriously un-PG, take my word for it - and then made both of you remember him asking you about me, so you’d raise your hackles and choose not to kiss him. Worked a charm.”

Sam smiled and spread her arms wide. “Simples.”

“You… you…” White-hot anger surged through me. “You _stole_ our kiss? You _stole_ my memory of it? Of what we said to each other? You stole _everything_ we could have been, everything we _would_ have been, you…” Words failed me.

How could she… how could she have…

We’d kissed. We’d said that we loved each other and… and I _couldn’t remember any of it!_

“Aren’t I bad?” Sam smirked, winking at me.

“Give. It. Back.” I growled. “You took the memory, now put it back!”

“Hmm.” Sam made a thoughtful expression. “No.”

“GIVE IT BACK NOW!” I screamed at her, seeing red.

“Shan’t.”

“Give it _back_, or I _swear_-”

Sam flexed her wrist casually and an invisible force came crashing down onto my shoulders. I collapsed to my knees, gasping, the breath knocked out of me by the impact. “Me. Powerful sorceress. Blood of the Partners flowing in my veins. You.” One finger pressed insistently against the underside of my chin, with _impossible_ strength, forcing me to look up. Straight into those calm emerald eyes. “Nothing.”

I glared back at her. I would not be bullied. She might have magic, and she might be strong, but she would _not_ see me break. I was stronger than that. I could find a way out.

“How’s the purse, by the way?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Zipper still not moving. Those are _so_ unreliable, y’know?”

It was snatched from my hands by an invisible force, hovering in the air in front of Sam. She casually reached out and opened it with ease. “Seems it just needed a woman’s touch.” Sam smiled like butter wouldn’t melt. She’d been toying with me. She’d known what I was trying to do (or had been trying to do before I got distracted) and had thwarted me without even exerting any effort.

I glared at her silently.

“You know what I hate about you?” Sam started conversationally, then frowned. “Well, I mean, almost _everything_, but in particular it’s your confidence. Over-confidence, in this case. You strut around, acting like you’re god’s gift to this green earth, so assured that you’re smarter than _everyone_ else… well.” 

Sam bent down to my level and smiled. “Not this time, Winifred.”

“You’re one to talk.” I snarled.

“Oh, I admit, I have a lot of confidence in myself.” Sam shrugged. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the most _infuriating_ human I’ve ever met. Still, I should be able to push through. I have Wesley to distract me. And, hey,”

Sam smiled. “Just twelve more days to go.”

I’d thought my stomach couldn’t get any more full of dread and nausea. I was proved wrong. “What’s in twelve days?”

“That’s the day the Partners set for terminating your life.” Sam remarked casually. My blood ran cold. 

“But… but you said…” I felt numb. “You said that you can’t-”

“Oh, not me.” Sam giggled. “Gee, I wish. No, the Partners don’t want me to get my hands dirty. Risk undermining the sweet setup I’ve carefully constructed, after I’ve made sure everything went _exactly _according to plan. I seduce Wesley, infiltrate the team, you uncover my secret so that everybody feels sorry for me and trusts me. Spike and Angel have Vail ‘cut me off’ from the Partners so that everybody trusts me absolutely. I eliminate Vail to tie up loose ends and pin it on the Partners, then you die in an accident that not even the most diligent, intelligent investigator could ever work out was anything but a tragic accident. You’re out of the way, I fill your shoes, wrap all your friends around my little finger as the group’s new conscience. Eventually, without you, they’ll _all_ be corrupted. Exactly as planned.”

“But… but the rings.” I stammered. “Vail couldn’t lie! He said that he-”

“Once I realised you were on to me - which you made super obvious by the way, thanks for that - I paid Vail a visit, and altered his memories appropriately. The spell he cast to cut off my link to the Partners actually temporarily disabled his own magic. That let me drop the roof on him, and knock myself out to evade any suspicion.” Sam smiled. “It’s _good_ to be _bad_.”

All part of her plan. I‘d just been a pawn on the chessboard. I’d never even _stood a chance._

“Why even bother?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Why not just rewrite all their memories to insert yourselves into the team? Or to make my death seem like an accident after you beat me to death in my office?”

“Fred, here at Wolfram and Hart, we have a little thing called ‘consistency’.” Sam paused. “You should look into that sometime, it’ll help you massively with future relationships. Or, it would if you weren’t… you know… gonna die. Anyway, we stand by our business arrangements. Two, unlike you, I have style. And my plan has it too.”

“You don’t have to do this.” I pleaded. I felt myself being lifted into the air by an invisible force, forced into a normal, standing upright position. “Sam, _please._ If you love Wesley… think about what this will do to him. You’re betraying him. Please, I swear, I’ll talk to Angel. Convince him to give you amnesty. We can make a deal. You… you don’t have to do this. _Please._”

“You want a deal?” Sam paused for a moment. “How about this, I’ll do you a favour. As you begin to drift away. When you can’t talk any more, when you’re on the very verge of the beyond… I’ll give you back your memory from Halloween.”

“And another thing.” Sam smiled at me genuinely. “My promise to take very good care of Wesley for you still stands. I will be _there_ for him through his period of grief. We’ll come out of this closer than ever.” Sam gently laid one hand on the side of my head.

I smiled. “Okay, so that’s the plan, then?”

“Definitely.” Sam nodded seriously. “I’ll rope in Angel - say we can have the jukebox play Barry Manilow or something - and grab Wes.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll grab Charles and Lorne.” Excitement bubbled up within me. “Gosh, we haven’t gone out for drinks in _ages_. As a whole thing, I mean.”

“Way too long.” Sam smiled. “Besides, tonight is a night for celebration, right?”

“Big ol’ night for celebration.” I agreed. “Celebrating your good fortune. Your drinks are on me, no ifs, no buts.”

“Are you sure?” Sam frowned, looking anxious. “I mean, I don’t want to be a burden or-”

Gosh, she was so sweet. “Not a burden at all.” I cooed. “My pleasure. Besides, you’re not gonna run me out of house and home. I know your alcohol tolerance is about as good as mine. Which is to say…” I made a double thumbs down sign.

Sam giggled. “You… may have a point, there.”

“Okay. Okay. Back to the plan.” I refocused myself. “Every second we spend yapping is a second not hitting the town.”

“Can’t have that.” Sam was almost hopping with excitement. I bit down on an indulgent smile, and turned to leave my office. Lorne would be easy to recruit. Charles too, honesty.This was gonna be an amaz-

“Fred, wait!” I slowed and glanced over my shoulder. Sam rushed up to me, proffering my jacket and purse. “You forgot these on your desk!”

“Oh, gosh, thank you!” I gasped, shaking my head and flushing. God, that was silly of me. “Silly me, I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

“Pfft. Don’t worry about it.” Sam smiled reassuringly. “You _always_ remember the important stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I had so much fun writing this chapter? :))
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!!!


	14. Grim Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time slips away...

**Gunn**

I swallowed my mouthful of beer and let out a contented sigh, setting the glass down on the bar. Damn fine stuff. Damn fine idea to come here too. No better way to spend a Friday night, and to celebrate two pieces of very good news. I looked around the bar: Angel and Spike were arguing about something viciously over several large bottles of Jack Daniels, Lorne was chatting animatedly with the bartender, and Wesley was sitting next to me gazing thoughtfully into his glass of whiskey.

Which left Fred and Sam. They looked like they were having the most fun out of everyone by a wide margin. Standing together on the slightly small corner stage, arms around each other’s shoulders, singing karaoke with _lots_ of passion into a shared microphone. “I want to be the one to walk in the sun!” Fred sang.

Sam sang the next line. “Oh girls, they wanna have fun!” 

I couldn’t help but smile: they were both so happy. And it showed. The broad smiles, the frequent giggling, the enthusiastic sort-of-dance-moves they were both doing every so often. 

Part of me wished I could have been there to watch that smug, self-serving demonic bastard get crushed by his own roof at the hands of the Partners he’d bragged would always need him. But seeing Sam happy, seeing her _free?_ That was good enough. Enough to make me feel very good about myself.

Which raised an interesting question about Wesley’s good mood. Or rather, his suspicious lack thereof.

“You know, it’s never a good sign when they start teaming up.” I smirked to Wesley, elbowing him gently.

“What?” He jerked round, blinking. 

He’d been deep in thought. Hmm. Interesting. “Women.” I smiled jokingly, nodding towards Sam and Fred. “Particularly the ones who… care about you.”

“Ah. Ah.” Wesley frowned at me. “I don’t follow.”

Of course he didn’t. “They seem to be having fun together.” I prompted gently. 

“So they should.” Wesley nodded, tapping the sides of glass thoughtfully. “There’s much to celebrate.”

“Exactly. So why aren’t you?” I abandoned any pretence of subtlety, leaning forwards on the bar and raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t follow.” Wesley muttered, looking away.

For somebody who was so talented a liar - and a lie detector - he was terrible at lying to his friends. Probably a good thing.

“Wesley. We _won_.” I paused for emphasis, then continued. “Whatever the Partners planned on doing, that’s over. Their whole scheme went belly-up once Fred figured out their little secret, and then died a swift and nasty death when Vail cut them off from even influencing Sam. Can’t use her to spy on us, threaten us, or manipulate us any more. And _then, _for good measure, the most powerful, evil warlock in the continental US got barbecued by the Partners to send a message to other contractors. I count one master scheme down, one seriously bad dude out of the way, and Sam _free_ of the Partners dogging her every step and threatening her with god-knows-what until she complies. Then throw in the fact that we saved bunch of kids and shut down a nasty gang of demon puppets…”

I sighed. “My point is you should be over the moon. Laughing, maybe even _smiling._ Dancing with Sam, or maybe just doing that thing you two do where you stare into each other’s eyes and nudge each other playfully until you end up like one blob. And you’re not. You’re sitting here, staring into an almost empty glass of whiskey, with a pensive look on your face.”

“I am happy.” Wesley sighed. “I’m just… it’s complicated. There are other concerns.”

“Feel free to un-complicate it.” I offered. “Unload. I’m right here. Bar talk is sacred. Nobody else ever knows.”

Wesley chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I’ll speak in general terms. Broad strokes.”

“High-level view. Copy that.” I nodded, focusing my full attention on him.

“Let’s just say that there’s… someone I know. Who I care about very much. And that he- _they_, have been struggling with something for quite some time. A burden that’s made them miserable to carry. And that I recognised something was off, but failed to address it. Always found an excuse to skirt around the problem and offer help in general terms, rather than go to the source.”

“Okay.” I nodded, unable to keep myself running through a list. Angel? Lorne? Who was he talking about?

“And now I’ve discovered that _I_ am the principal cause of that burden.” Wesley sighed. “Which rather killed any inclination to celebrate. As it should have.”

“Hmm.” I mused. “Do they blame you?”

“No, not at all. They don’t have it in them.” Wesley sighed. “I could shoot them at point blank range and they’d find a way to explain it as not being my fault.”

That sounded kind of like Lorne. I shot him a look: he seemed fine. Very happy. “Or maybe it’s not your fault. You have got the whole weight-of-the-world thing going on.”

  
Wesley shot me a filthy look. That was fair.

“What did you do to them? In general terms? Was there any reason to expect it might cause them trouble?”

“No.” 

“Did you intend to cause them hurt?”

“No.”

“Is there a way for you to stop doing this thing you’re doing?”

“… Yes. It Is within my power.” Wesley looked at me. “But I _can’t._ Not without hurting other people, and… and myself. Maybe myself most of all.”

“One-sentence answer? It’s not your fault.”

“Long answer?” Wesley raised an eyebrow.

“That one comes with another whiskey.” I waved at the bartender. “Hey! Can we get a-”

“_Hey_, stranger!” Sam collided gently with the back of Wesley, her head resting on his shoulder, grinning ear-to-ear. She looked adorable.

“Sam!” She kissed his cheek. “How-” Neck. “are-” Earlobe. “you-” And so on.

“-doing?” Wesley managed to turn halfway around in his seat, his cheek and that side of his neck peppered with little lipstick marks. I resisted the urge to yell for someone to take a photo. Just. 

“I’m thirsty.” Sam stuck her lower lip out into a very fetching pout, green eyes going wide and soft. I had vivid flashbacks to Fred using that _exact_ facial expression and tone of voice on me back when… a long time ago. The Partners had certainly done their homework.

“May I buy you a drink?” Wesley smiled, no trace of his earlier melancholy apparent.

“I suppose you _may_.” Sam smiled playfully, rubbing her nose against his.

I coughed.

“Hi Charles!” Sam waved at me, still beaming.

“Hi yourself.” I nodded towards the stage. “Excellent performance.”

“Aw, you’re too sweet.” Sam blushed slightly. “Fred was doing all the work, really.”

“You seemed more like a team to me.” I frowned, surveying the bar. “Where’s Fred?”

“Little girl’s room.” Sam whispered in a conspiratorial voice. I nodded awkwardly. She turned back to Wesley. “Drink? Pretty please?”

“Done.”

Sam chose to respond by kissing him. 

I averted my eyes, and tried to focus on the song so I wouldn’t have to listen. God. Did they notneed to breathe? Maybe _she_ didn’t, actually. That would explain a lot. Like the babbling.

“Get us both a triple?” Sam hopped up onto the barstool, settling comfortably in Wesley’s lap. Her arm around his shoulders, his at her waist.

“A triple?” Wesley nodded to the barman, who nodded back and began fixing drinks. “I’m carrying you home then?”

“I will be fine, thank you _very much_.” Sam poked him. “I’m having plenty to eat.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner.”

“Well, technically-”

“Or lunch.”

“I had half a sandwich!”

“And breakfast this morning consisted of half a bowl of cereal with triple the recommended amount of sugar.”

Sam looked at me, in a mock exasperated way. “Is he like this with everyone?” She stuck her tongue out at Wes and poked him gently on the shoulder.

“Like what?” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Fond of utilising evidence?”

“Pampering.” I supplied. “And, he’s not. That’s pretty much just with you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Wes. “Guilty.” He shrugged.

“You’re sweet.” Sam kissed his nose. “But I’m fine. See? Peanuts!” She grabbed a handful out of a bowl on the bar and started munching them down. I chuckled: brain of a visionary, table manners of a four-year old. Very much like someone else I knew.

“Peanuts.” I was always impressed by just how much sarcasm British people could condense into one word. “Oh, good.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s do best-case worst-case?” Sam cupped Wesley’s cheek.

“Alright. You first.”

“Best case.” Sam frowned, chewing thoughtfully on one lip. “We end up pleasantly buzzed, dance together for a while, slow-dance to a few songs wildly inappropriate for slow-dancing to, make our meandering way home together in the crisp evening air, stumble our way through our apartment…” Sam concluded her point with another thorough kiss.

I checked to see if there was anyone else available to talk to: nope, this appeared to be it. Couldn’t see Lorne, no sign of Fred, and I’d pick these two over Angel and Spike arguing. Just.

“Is that your way of warning me we’re going to be dancing?” Wesley murmured.

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, an utterly innocent, guileless expression plastered on her face. I chuckled. “I can’t make you do anything.”  
Wesley snorted.

“If you don’t wanna dance with me, you don’t have to. I guess.” Sam visibly drooped. “But I’d really really love for us to do it. We almost never dance…”

“Perhaps… perhaps just five or six.” Wesley smiled ruefully. Sam squealed delightedly and hugged him tightly.

I couldn’t help but chuckle: she _so_ had Wes wrapped around her little finger. In a cute way.

“Oh gosh, when did those get here?” Sam frowned, looking at two drinks placed on the bar next to them.

“About fifty seconds into your last kiss.” I muttered.

“That’s… oddly specific.” Sam frowned. Half a second later, Wesley frowned.

“Yeah, time moves like a snail when you two are doing that.”

“It really does, huh?” Sam turned away from me, smiling shyly at Wesley. He began to close the distance-

God, they so took the wrong message from that.

“Okay, that’s enough.” I clapped loudly. They jerked away from each other. Sam looked abashed. Wesley looked vaguely murderous. I tried to put myself in his shoes, and fully understood his position. “You two are gonna drink _these_, and then mosey on outta here and onto that dance floor. You can smooch to your heart’s content out of my sight, and out of my mind.”

“That sounds nice.” Sam commented, beginning to drink impressively fast.

“We might be there a while.” Wesley stroked soft circles on her cheek. “Kissing you to my heart’s content… that might take a very long time.”

“_How_ long?” Sam demanded, hands planted imperiously on hips.

“As long as wind races over the ice caps. As long as the earth orbits the sun. As long as I exist…” Wesley kissed her chastely. “And one minute more.”

“I love you too.” Sam smiled. “You know… we don’t have to… I was just kidding earlier about danc-”

“I can’t think of much I want more than to dance with you right now.” Wesley stood up, shifting his arms in some impressive way so that he ended up carrying her, Prince Charming style. Props.

“What kind of things do you want more?” Sam pouted at him as he began to walk away.

“Well, it’s really one thing. Three letters, one vowel, proper noun, rhymes with ‘Dam’…” They weaved away through the crowd towards the dance floor.

“Thank God.” I muttered. I mean, they were cute… but there was only so much a man could take. Especially when he was tragically single.

Fred materialised out of the crowd, setting herself down heavily in the seat next to me. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, she was breathing heavily, and a few stray beads of sweat remained on her face. She looked tuckered out. Too much karaoke, I guess. Or just enough, depending on your point of view.

“Hey!” I got the bartender’s attention and smiled, nodding to Fred. “Ice cold lemonade for this one, please. On the double.”

“God, you’re a hero.” Fred smiled gratefully at me, then swiped the lemonade off the counter and guzzled down several mouthfuls in one go, before wiping her mouth and sighing contentedly. I chuckled and grinned. “Now, that’s what I call service with a smile.” Fred looked at me meaningfully, then frowned. “Even if it is kind of a smug smile.”

“Came with the upgrade.” I tapped the side of my head and shrugged. “Evil lawyer mannerisms.”

“Well, as long as you don’t go all corrupt on me, I can handle it.” Fred smiled mockingly.

“Objection!” I declared, banging one fist on the bar. Fred giggled and rolled her eyes, swatting my shoulder playfully. “In all seriousness though… this was a great idea, Fred. I’m glad we did this.”

“Whole team drinks!” Fred smiled, then frowned and started looking around the room. “Why is it whenever we do this we always end up split off into tiny groups doing random things? Why don’t we all sit as like, an actual group? Play drinking games or something, I don’t know.”

“I imagine it would make the conversation harder to keep track of.” I shrugged. “But I take your point. You feel like dragging Spike off that stage any time soon?” I nodded to the karaoke stage, where Spike was belting out a tune with a great deal of enthusiasm, but far less talent. He looked glued to the microphone.

“On no account.” Fred shook her head firmly. “If he doesn’t get it out of his system now, he’ll only do it in the shower. Lord knows they take long enough for a full opera.”

“Remind me how Spike ended up living with you again?” I frowned.

“Long story. Not enough drinks here to tell it without doubting many life decisions.” Fred slurped up the last of her lemonade. I subtly signalled for another one. Fred tapped her fingers against the side of the glass for a few moments. “We haven’t really talked in a while, have we?” She turned to face me, the slightest frown creasing her face.

“We see each other all the time.” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but do we _talk?_ Beyond good morning, good afternoon, sorry I’m too busy right now, yada yada yada?” Fred raised an eyebrow.

“We… live busy lives.” I offered eventually. It was an empty excuse and we both knew it. There was never an excuse to neglect friends.

“Busy with all the wrong things.” Fred mused softly, spinning the glass idly. The pause was pregnant. She looked over at me and sat up straight, eyes softening. “That wasn’t meant… I didn’t…”

“I know.” I smiled. “I know what you meant.”

“Good.” Fred looked relieved. Her smile broadened when another lemonade was slid across to her. She turned to the bartender. “Thanks! Gosh, it’s like they read your mind at these places, huh?”

I suppressed a smile. “Seems that way sometimes, yeah.”

“So, how are you?” Fred stopped drinking for a second. “And I mean, _really_, how are you? Not in like a casual, small talk way. How is your life? Are you happy? Are things bothering you? Things I can help with?”

I chuckled at the directness of it. So very Fred. “Life is good. I love the work I do, some of the clientele excepted. I’m doing real good. Those kids we saved today. Forcing Vail to tell us the whole truth. I feel… valued.”

“You are _always_ valued.” Fred said quietly. “You know that, right? That if you woke up tomorrow with no more knowledge of the law than me, we’d all still love you just as much?”

I felt fuzzy. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Fred nodded. She chewed on her lip, looking into the bottom of the glass.

“I _know_ that look.” I poked her shoulder. “C’mon. Spit it out.” Poke. Poke. Fred gave me a look and I relented.

She sighed. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I frowned.

“For how it all worked out between us.” Fred sighed. “I’m not hitting on you, I swear, I just… I didn’t treat you as well as you deserved. Not at all.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Long in the past, Fred. No hard feelings.”

“Only hurt ones?” Fred raised an eyebrow, expression melancholy.

“Like I didn’t hurt yours?” I pointed out. She nodded reluctantly. “We both made mistakes, Fred. It happens.”

“We’re only human.” Fred murmured.

“That’s all any of us are.” I shrugged. “Human. Fallible. Prone to mistakes.”

“But also prone to incredible, inexplicable acts of kindness.” Fred smiled. “Especially towards friends.”

“Always towards friends.” I raised a glass. Fred smiled wider and clinked her glass - christ, how was it nearly empty already - against mine, then both of us drank.

“So…” I glanced over at the dance floor, searching for them. Wesley and Sam. Clinging far closer to each other than anyone in a public area should, slow dancing to a song not meant to be slow-danced to, and seemingly ignorant of anything but each other. I nodded over at them. “You’re okay with that, Fred?”

“I’ve… made my peace with it. Properly.” Fred sighed. “They’re perfect for each other.”

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” I said for want of something more reassuring. “And, don’t worry, I swear I’m not hitting on you.”

“You’d better not be.” She kicked my shin gently. 

“You could start fishing right now.” I smirked. “Spike’s _definitely_ got a subtle thing for you. I bet Angel would eagerly help you seduce him if you asked, anything to get Spike away from Buffy. Lorne and I could help too.”

Fred rolled her eyes. “What is it with everyone and me and Spike? Yikes. No, just living with him is frustrating enough.” She shuddered.

“Even if he is very easy on the eyes?” I raised an eyebrow.

“The frequent shirtlessness is basically his rent.” Fred shrugged. "It’s pretty much the only positive.”

“Recruiting Spike as a male stripper in exchange for rent. Buffy would love that.” I teased.

“I’m sure you can all protect me if Buffy arrives seeking to defend Spike’s honour.” Fred said and I snorted. “We can protect each other from anything.”

“That we can.” I nodded. “_And_ we can help each other get dates. C’mon, look around. Pick a guy. I’ll help you nab him.”

“One: not interested. Two, how exactly would you do that?”

“Easy.” I paused. “We act like I’m flirting at you and you’re desperate to escape the conversation-”

“Ridiculously easy.”

I ignored her. “You cast a pleading look or two at the guy in question, he’ll fall over himself to rescue you. I’ll act chastened and hustle off, you bat those lovely eyes at him and buy him a drink.”

“That does sound kind of fun.” Fred frowned. “But I’m _not_ gonna rush into anything, Charles. I’ve got a lot of time to find somebody who’s right for me. And who _I’m_ right for.”

“That sounds nice.” I smiled. “Tell ya what else sounds nice?”

“Shoot.”

“That thing where all of us sit together.” I stood up and stretched. “You grab Angel, Lorne, and Spike.”

“Why do I have to get three and you only two?” Fred frowned.

“Because I get the love birds. Want to swap?” I folded my arms. Fred shook her head vehemently. “Okay. Meet back here?”

“Sounds good.” Fred downed the last dregs of her lemonade, and headed in Angel’s direction.

I braced myself and started making my way towards the stage. I strained my ears, trying to pick up their conversation as I elbowed through an incredibly dense crowd of people on the dance-floor.

“Sam, you should.” Wesley’s voice was encouraging.

“I don’t know.” I could practically hear her fiddling with the ends of her hair and biting her lip nervously. “I mean… it was just a joke. I shouldn’t actually… nobody wants to hear _me_ sing…”

“They enjoyed it earlier. As did you.”

“I had Fred to do all the hard parts.”

“Sam.” A pause. “You have the voice of an angel.”

I caught a glimpse of Wesley kissing her cheek. “I’m not sure I do.”

“Well, you _are_ an angel, so logically you must.”

Sam sighed. “Okay, but promise me if I sound like a scratchy record, you’ll drag me off stage.”

“Promise. Except I’ll carry you.”

“That’s fair. But carry me off if I get to the end of the song as well.”  


I finally made it to the stage just as Sam picked up the microphone and began fiddling with the music box. “Gunn.” Wesley nodded, smiling.

“Wesley.” I clapped him on the back. “Not joining her?”

“She wants to sing a solo. I can tell.” Wesley tapped the side of his nose and smiled. “Even if she’s nervous. Sam can’t hide anything from me.”

“Sounds reasonable.” I nodded. “We’re all gonna sit together. You two good to come with when the song’s over?”

“Sounds lovely.” Wesley nodded. “I promise we’ll be over once the song is done.”

Translation: we want to stare into each other’s eyes the whole time she’s singing, so kindly bugger off Gunn.

“We’ll be over there.” I pointed to the table where Fred had already gathered the others and began to make my way over there. I’d made it halfway when the song came on, and Sam’s bright, angelic voice cut through all the chatter.

“I’m only happy when it _rains,_”

\+ + + + + + +

_I’m only happy when it’s com-pli-cated_

**Wesley**

Sam’s brow furrowed, eyebrows knitting together very prettily. Her lips twisted into a confused-looking frown as she scrutinised the game-board, one lock of golden hair falling onto her cheek.

“Awed by the intricacy of my stratagem?” I murmured, leaning forwards to gently brush that strand behind her ear.

“No. No, I’m just… confused.” Sam chewed her lip and lifted one bare leg up onto the edge of the chair, puling off her (mismatched) socks and tossing them onto the pile behind her without looking. “I… I have no idea what you’re trying to do.”

“Call all the newspaper companies.” I grinned. “I put one over on Samantha Jennings.”

She flicked my nose and stuck out her tongue at me, picking up her pawn and knocking over my bishop with more force than was perhaps necessary. “You’re sacrificing pieces wildly for no visible strategic advantage. Losing a rook to take a bishop, a bishop to take a pawn… the economics of this don’t work out for you.”

“Everything’s working out for me just fine.” I said, truthfullly.

“Hmm. Pay your forfeit then.” Sam added my bishop to her neatly organised collection of my fallen soldiers. I consoled myself with the thought that they’d died for a worthy cause, pulling off my jumper and adding it to the pile of clothes (which thus far included Sam’s socks, skirt, cardigan, and glasses as well as my socks).

“How much have you had to drink?” Sam frowned, eyes scrutinising my face. “Do you have a headache?”

I chuckled. “I’m fine.” There were, after all, two ways to play strip chess. One could of course play the long game, moving slowly across the board in search of the ultimate prize that came with victory. Or, one could aim to take as many pieces as possible as fast as they could, thus depriving their opponent of their garments with ruthless efficiency.

I was, of course, obeying the second strategy. This was _Sam_ for god’s sake. And, an opportunity had just presented itself. I moved my queen to take her pawn, snatching it off the board victoriously. “Forfeit.” I smiled.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Sam huffed. “You’re just… you just sacrificed your queen to take a pawn! I get to take it now with my knight!”

“Oh no.” I shrugged. “Forfeit.”

“I know, of course, the forfeit, but Wesley you’re making a complete mess of-” Sam sat up straight, blinking. She frowned for a moment. Then she giggled and raised an eyebrow at me, incalculable mirth in her eyes. “Oh my _gosh_, Wesley.”

“Oh my gosh what, dearest?” I maintained an expression of utmost innocence.

“You are unbelievable.” Her eyes gleamed. “Unbelievable.”

“Nonsense. I’m simply being myopic.” I smiled. “Forfeit, please.”

“Oh, by all means.” Sam reached around and started fiddling with something on her back. I frowned: was she wearing some jewellery I wasn’t aware of? “One item of clothing, coming up. But _I’m_ going to get the victory prize.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” I dropped my voice to a murmur. “I look forward to it.”

“What, you didn’t want that prize yourself?” Sam frowned. 

“Oh, I very much do.” I smiled. “But if I play to win, then I think there’s at best a 52% chance of me winning, and I’d have to spend an awful lot of time not admiring you to the fullest. Or, I could sacrifice that 52% chance of victory, and in exchange fill up that pile of your clothes as quickly as possible.” 

“Un. Believe. Able.” Sam rolled her eyes. Her breasts bulged forwards suddenly and (despite it being an undoubtedly pleasant turn of events) I frowned. Why had that just-

Sam’s hands emerged from behind her back, dangling one very familiar red bra. “One article.” She smiled sweetly, tossing it casually onto the pile. She leaned much further forward than was necessary and swiped my queen off the board. “Forfeit.” She almost sang, looking inordinately pleased with herself. I raced to comply, unbuttoning my shirt as fast as I could. She leaned back in her chair and languidly stretched her arms overhead faux casually. It taxed my willpower extensively to not stare. 

“I didn’t need that piece anyway.” I said nonchalantly, shrugging off my shirt.

“Wow. Bold statement. English chess player has no need of the white Queen.” Sam toyed with the playing piece thoughtfully, spinning it in the palm of one hand. “Care to elaborate?”

“You’re my Queen.” I murmured, leaning forwards. Sam smiled and leaned in-

Only to pull away at the _last_ moment, wagging one finger disapprovingly. “You know the rules, _Wesley_.” She folded both arms across her stomach. God, did they obey the laws of gravity at all? “No kissing or fondling while the game is in progress. Eyes only.”

I growled and returned my gaze to the board. One more piece. I just needed to take one more piece. Perhaps two at most. But no easy kills were available. “Oh, dear.” Sam frowned, leaning forwards - again, _much further_ than necessary. “No easy pieces to pick off anymore?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“What an awful shame.” Sam shook her head sadly. “I could toy with you for hours. Slowly strip you of all your precious pieces, without letting you touch one of mine. I’m more than willing to make you wait. Unless…”

“Unless?” I raised an eyebrow, cursing her impeccable logic.

“Your queen’s already lost.” A wicked smile curved her lips. “Give up your King. Pay the ultimate forfeit. I will have mercy on you.”

“The problem with that,” I whispered in her ear, both our heads above that treacherous game-board. “Is that once I forfeit the game, you have no reason whatsoever to keep to that promise. I’ll be at your mercy.”

“Then, I suppose you can wait.” One of Sam’s hands pulled her blouse tight against her form in a way that was as far from accidental as possible. Then she smiled, shyly. “Or you could trust me. Do you trust me?”

“With my life. With my heart.” I smiled, moving one hand to grip the top of the white King. “With my everything.”

I knocked over the king. “I surrender. I will pay the ultimate forfeit.”

“Then stand, _slave._” Sam rose to her feet and so did I. “Bow your head.” I did so. “You’re mine now. Sworn to obey.”

“I was promised mercy, mistress.” I murmured.

“And you shall have it. The cruellest mercy I possess. Leave your things on the pile.” I obeyed without question.

The apartment felt a lot chillier all of a sudden.

Sam smirked, beginning to undo a tantalising button or two on her blouse. “You wanted to see. So I’ll deny you that. Close your eyes. Do not open them until I bid you.” I closed my eyes.

All I heard for a moment was the sound of rustling.

A warm hand stroked the underside of my chin. “But I’ll deny you nothing else.” Sam whispered. Soft lips brushed mine for a blissful few moments. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I murmured. The words felt so beyond right. I still felt a thrill at saying them.

Sam’s hand found mine and enclosed it. She squeezed tenderly. “Come with me.” I followed her.

She didn’t let me open my eyes for hours to come. There was something thrilling, and strangely comforting, about being in the dark.

\+ + + + + + +

_No one knows I love it when the news is bad_

**Fred**

“Trust me, Fredikins, this coffee is to _die_ for.” Lorne assured me.

“I’m sure it is!” I privately thought it would have to be, considering the effort Lorne was pouring into this (Metaphorical pouring of effort, not _actual_ extracted effort, which I was told didn’t go well with coffee). Another puff of steam whistled out of the machine and I swallowed, subtly looking around Lorne’s office for something to treat burns with.

“Fred, have some faith!” Lorne laughed, twisting one of the valves on the machine in a way that looked significant. I nodded and tried to look appropriately abashed. The coffee machine - perched on the dressing table - was the newest addition to Lorne’s office. Lorne had called me up here - sounding unutterably excited - and my first thought upon seeing it was that Lorne had somehow stolen a scientific prototype from a research laboratory. The coffee machine looked a lot more complicated than some of the machines in my lab: valves and knobs aplenty, random gusts of steam, jets for hot water, coffee extract, and lord knows what else scattered haphazardly over it. Still, Lorne seemed to know what he was doing.

“Ah! Ha ha!” A yelp of pain became a laugh of triumph as two jets of liquid that looked like coffee poured into two mugs placed on the tray for the occasion. “Told you I could do it!”

“Never said you couldn’t!” I beamed, patting Lorne’s wrist as he sat down to check for burns. None found.

“Trust me, one sip of this stuff makes you feel immortal.” Lorne carefully passed me my cup.

“No sugar?” I frowned. “Or milk?”

“Already taken care of by the machine.” Lorne grinned smugly. “On three?”

I lifted my mug to my mouth. “One. Two. Three!” I sipped the coffee.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I drew back ever so slightly, staring down at the mug. “That. Is. _Incredible_.” God, it tasted so _rich._ And it was the perfect temperature, hot but not so hot as to burn my tongue. “Lorne, I take back every doubting look you didn’t see me shoot your way.”

“Glad to hear it.” Lorne kept drinking his own coffee, wide grin fixed on his face. I was all too happy to follow suit.

“How does it taste so… I mean…” This was to coffee what Sam’s tea was to diner tea.

“Beans from a little independent farm in Colombia.” Lorne smacked his lips and set down his empty mug. “Machine designed by a coffee scientist, apparently. It was a gift from the director of a film I kept from being a flop.”

“Well, he knows how to give gifts.” I set down my own mug. I could feel the caffeine buzz beginning to set in and - although I might be imagining it - I would swear it was way better than the buzz from normal coffee. “As do you, for sharing it with me.”

“Pfft. Think nothing of it, I needed someone to show off for.” Lorne grinned.

I laughed. “Well, what’s a star performer without an audience?”

“Gosh, Fred, you’ll make me blush.” Lorne dropped his voice. “It’s not a good look for me, take my word for it.”

“You, looking bad?” I pretended to think for a moment, then shook my head. “Sorry, Lorne. Can’t suspend my disbelief that far.”

“Stop it, you little compliment demon!” Lorne shook his head. “Where’s scorn when you need it?”

“Oh, you want scorn?” I jerked a thumb a the machine. “How long have you been keeping this from me, huh?”

Lorne swallowed. “Not long.” I raised an eyebrow. “Just over the weekend.”

I tutted. “And what exactly is the meaning of your calendar this week?”

“My calendar?” Lorne frowned.

“Yes!” I strutted other to it and tapped each weekday in turn. “You haven’t put down anything going on in the evenings! No events, no parties, no nothing! Lorne, this is an _intervention._” I smiled at him.

Lorne smiled right back. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If what you think I’m saying,” I sat back down next to him. “Is that I would love to spend some time with you this week, then yes.”

Lorne whooped. “Okay! Alright! Just lemme think… you want to go to an opening night theatre performance tonight? I got royal box tickets.”

“How can you have box tickets?” I frowned. “There’s nothing on your calendar.”

Lorne chuckled. “Oh, sweet naïve scientist. I am a _power broker_ in the entertainment industry. People beg me to take the royal box.”

“Wow.” I frowned. “Nobody does stuff like that for me. I picked the wrong business to be in.”

“Hey! I take exception to that.” Lorne put one hand on my shoulder and smiled warmly. “_I_ do stuff like that for you.”

I smiled back. “I know you do.” I sighed. “But I can’t do tonight. I have a prior engagement.”

“A prior engagement more important than opening night royal box tickets?” Lorne’s eyebrows went so high they looked ready to levitate above his head.

“Kinda.” I nodded sheepishly. “Trust me when I say I practically had to move heaven and earth to pull this thing together.”

“Okay, okay.” Lorne tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Tomorrow?”

“I’m free.” I smiled. “Theatre then?”

“Definitely. On one condition.” Lorne paused. “We do dinner as well, beforehand. There is this wonderful little place, best kept secret in the city, the most marvellous fish-”

“Lorne, I already agreed!” I laughed, swatting at him. “But dinner does sound great. I’ll get my work done in plenty of time.”

“Splendid.” Lorne smiled. “I’ll make some calls, get us a reservation at the restaurant, move the opening night one day back so we still get to enjoy it.”

I laughed. _Move_ the opening night. Lorne was such a kidder. “I look forward to it.” I glanced over a the coffee machine and smiled hopefully. “One for the road? _Please?_” I suggested.

“Ah! Stop it with the eyes! So wide! So bright! They’re blinding!” Lorne made a show of staggering towards the machine, covering his eyes with one hand, and I laughed. He was so sweet. “I do have a condition.”

“For a cup of _that_ coffee? Name it.” I smiled.

“You tell me what’s going on tomorrow that trumps opening night theatre with your old buddy, old friend, old pal Lorne?” He smirked. “Got a hot date?”

Oh, _very_ funny. Well, I could play that game too. “Two of them.” I smiled sweetly. “Actually.”

Lorne’s shocked, then slightly scandalised, then impressed expressions were very satisfying.

\+ + + + + + +

_It feels so, so good when she feels sad_

**Wesley**

“Sam.” I stood by the door to the office and smiled. 

“Just one minute.” She murmured, pen flying across whatever document she was working on. “I’ll be done in one minute.”

I allowed myself to wonder idly what she was working on for a moment. Something difficult, judging by that intense look in her eyes, by how far her glasses - used only rarely - had slid down her nose.

“Sam,” I said slightly more loudly. “Your meeting with Angel.”

“OH!” She gasped, leaping up, glasses falling onto the desk. “Oh my gosh, I’m late! Am I late?”

“Not quite. You still have a good minute to make the… fifteen second trip to his office.”

“You’re not funny.” Sam glared at me playfully, swiping up a few folders and rushing out of the office. “Not even a little.”

“Hmm.” I followed behind, smiling. “Noted.”

“So. About this whole meeting.” Sam swallowed, spinning to face me in front of the doors to Angel’s office, conveniently blocking them. “I was wondering if we could discuss that whole you-make-the-presentation-for-me plan again, because I don’t think we gave it due consideration and that it’s a winning strategy just waiting to be-”

“Sam,” I cupped her cheek with one hand and smiled. “You’ll be fine. You know the content of this case a lot better than me. You’ve practiced. You have a photographic memory. And you’re one of perhaps three people in the world that can convince Angel to come out of his shell.” I used to be someone who could do that. Before…

Everything.

“This is like pushing a bird off a cliff to teach it to fly.” Sam muttered sulkily.

“That’s _exactly_ how birds learn to fly.”

“The ones that don’t splat.”

“You’re not going to splat.” I snuck my hand around her side to twist the handle, causing the door to swing open behind her.

“Oh, you _beast!_” Sam gasped.

“Sam! Wesley. C’mon in.” Angel waited in his chair. Sam shot me a glare that told me I’d be paying for the door stunt sooner rather than later, and advanced into the room. I shut the door behind me and sat in one of the chairs at the side of the room. “So… this is about a warlock of some kind?”

“That’s right!” Sam nodded, dumping the folders on Angel’s desk. “Pious Thandor.”

“I remember him.” Angel frowned, picking up and opening the first folder. “Wasn’t he one of the more reasonable ones? Promised to stay away from dark magic in future?”

“He was reasonable. Until very recently. Second folder.” Sam tucked her hair behind her ears and continued as Angel opened the relevant document. “He almost got overthrown by a subordinate. Only survived by secretly promising one sect of his cult that he’d go back to the old ways. Things still look above board now, but in a few weeks he’s gonna turn back to the dark side and take all his servants with him. Bone magic, blood magic, all sorts of really very unpleasant magic. Not that blood or people who use it for sustenance are all bad or unpleasant, it’s just that… in this specific case-”

“Relax, Sam.” Angel smiled, taking a casual sip from his cup of blood. “Okay, so he’s going evil. What’s our response?”

Sam looked over at me and swallowed: my turn to shine. “We eliminate him. Carefully.” I walked over to the desk. “Sam and I will magically disguise ourselves, and infiltrate his group as acolytes. While we’re in there, I’ll subtly make allies, threatening the full might of a Wolfram and Hart response if they don’t fall in line. Once enough of them are on my side, Sam will watch my back while I eliminate Pious. We vanish, the group stays off the dark magic.”

“Simples.” Sam piped up. 

Angel sighed, drumming his fingers on the desk. “It’s a good plan. How long will it take?”

“Couple of days.” I glanced at Sam. 

“Four at most.” She agreed. “Three if we impress them enough to avoid the proving ritual of Nun-Sharak.” Gods, I hoped we didn’t have to do that.

“Right.” Angel looked perplexed, but nodded. “Sure. Except… I’m not keen for both of you to be gone for that long. What if something comes up?”

“It’s only a two-mile trip from here.” I pointed out. “Worst comes to the worst, contact us or send an armed emissary. We can be with you very fast.”

“Plus, things are kind of quiet right now.” Sam offered. “This might be the best chance we get to take down Pious before he starts practicing really dark magic again. The type that makes him hard to take down.”

“Besides, Fred will be here.” I offered. “She’ll have my notebook. She’ll be more than able to deal with most mystical events that come up, especially supported by the department.” I felt a brief pang of guilt in my chest. Fred. She seemed to be doing alright, everything I saw suggested that she was coping very well. Much better than she’d been doing for a long while. Lorne was very happy with how things were going, and had reassured me the best thing to do was to stay ever so slightly out of her way for a while. This qualified.

Angel frowned and rubbed his chin. “Fine. If we do this, I want you to do it ASAP. No loitering.”

“Done and done-r.” Sam smiled. “We’ll have this sewn up in a jiffy.”

“That wasn’t so bad.” I murmured as we left the office.

“That was _so_ bad!” Sam hissed, wringing her hands. “I was… that was… I mean… it was scary! Him sitting there, being all… brooding.”

“He smiled at you as you walked in.”

“You’re much too clever for your own good, you know.”

“Which makes you about five times too clever for your own good.” I closed my office door and smiled at her. She smiled back. I bent down to kiss her gently, entwining my fingers with hers. “Come on. We have one more afternoon and evening before we have to impersonate power-hungry, devious, manipulative dark sorcerers. Let’s enjoy it.”

“Never thought I’d have to play that role.” Sam frowned. “In college theatre, it was all heroines and extras. Never pretended to be an evil sorceress.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage it somehow. You always do.”

\+ + + + + + +

_I feel good when things are going wrong_

**Fred**

I pushed the button on the microwave. _Bing._ The little spinning dish thing inside - now festooned with two large mugs - started spinning. Perfect. I stretched both arms above my head and fought off a yawn as I wandered back into the living room of my apartment. I eyed the room critically: cushions placed on the sofa at strategic intervals, footrests, my new TV, and the accompanying DVD player (recently attached). I’d placed an umbrella stand by the front door (in lieu of a weapons rack, which I had _not_ been prepared to buy) and surreptitiously arranged a long line of my shoes next to it, to encourage good behaviour. I zipped up my hoodie, and hammered on the bathroom door on my way back to the kitchen. “Spike! Five minute warning!”

“Oh, bugger!” Spike burst out of the bathroom, slicking down his hair. “Sorry, pet.”

“If you break that door, you fix it.” I advised him. “Deadly splinters or no.”

“Fair enough.” Spike straightened up. “I’ll, err, be back soon then. When’s he meant to arrive?”

“In four minutes.” I removed the mugs from the microwave and substituted my bag of popcorn in their place, starting it up again.

“Copy that.” Spike nodded. “Thanks, Fred.”

“You’re being ridiculous, for the record!” I shouted after him as he vanished out the front door.

I dragged a chair over to the freezer, popped it open and stood up on the chair to reach the top drawer. I removed the ice cream tub, carved an appropriately large chunk out of it, dunked it in a bowl, and popped the bowl in the fridge. Now it would be cool but not rock solid or melting when the time came to eat it.

It was nice being a genius. I returned the ice cream to the fridge, pulled the blinds closed - a few too many early evening sun rays coming in to be safe, sadly necro-tempered glass had not been available - walked over to the TV, fished a coin out of my pocket, then tossed it.

And dropped it. Like a klutz. “Why,” I mumbled, ducking down to grab it. “Why me?” I tossed it again, and this time I caught it! Heads. “Bad luck, Spike.” I picked up the left DVD box and popped it open, loading the DVD. I grabbed my popcorn out of the microwave and ate a kernel, then poured myself an orange juice. Just as I was about to sip, the doorbell rang. I agonised for a second, drank a half sip, and dashed to the door, pulling it open. “Hi, Angel!” I smiled.

“Hi, Fred.” He smiled back, in that dorky cute way of his. He proffered a tin. “I brought this.”

“Oh! Thank you.” I took the tin and scrutinised I: luxury hot chocolate powder. Ooh. “Oh, wow. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Angel raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna invite me in?”

“Nice try.” I swatted him gently. “Get me once, shame on you.”

“It was two and a half years ago.” Angel shook his head and followed me in. “It wouldn’t be that surprising if you forgot you didn’t have to invite me in every time.”

“I have a pretty good memory. Weapons in the umbrella stand and shoes on the mat, please!” I walked into the kitchen, put away my new favourite tin, grabbed one of the mugs along with my orange juice, and returned. “And I remembered because forgetting the rules of the supernatural is a hazard in our line of work.”

“Right. Sure.” Angel took the cup and sniffed it, then brightened. “Otter blood!”

“Freshly microwaved.” I beamed, making a mental note to spray some air freshener in the kitchen later to get rid of the blood smell.

“Thanks, Fred.” Angel sipped, then performed the most un-surreptitious surreptitious glance I’d ever seen. “So… is Spike late?”

“Yeah.” I nodded and shrugged. “What do you expect?”

“Right.” Angel looked pleased for someone who’d just found out their evening would be delayed. “So unreliable.”

“Remember.” I put my hands on my hips. “You made a promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Angel shuffled his feet.

“What was the promise?” I demanded. Angel mumbled something under his breath. “I didn’t catch that.”

“… I-promised-to-be-nice-to-Spike.” Angel said quickly.

“You did.” I smiled and rested one hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Angel sighed. “Who won the toss?”

“You did.” Angel immediately brightened. “We’re watching your film first.”

“Great.” Angel beamed. “Mind if I grab a seat?”

“No, go for it. But shoes off first.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

The doorbell rang. I walked over and opened it. “Sorry I’m late, gorgeous.” Spike smiled at me sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes as widely as I possibly could. “Save it, Spike.” Playing along with this ruse so that Angel didn’t realise he was sleeping on my sofa was _exhausting._ But it had been a condition of his promise to be nice to Angel tonight. And I _really_ wanted these two to try to get along for once. Partly for its own sake.

Partly for science: was it _possible_ for these two to share a room without fighting? If it was possible, this was the time and place. “Blood’s on the kitchen counter. Kitten mug.”

“Thanks.” Spike kicked off his shoes (he’d learnt _very quickly_ that shoes in here were not tolerated) and I walked to the sofa, sitting down in the middle with my popcorn.

“Nice socks.” Angel commented.

He seemed to be being genuine. “Thanks.” I wiggled my toes inside my exceptionally fluffy, impossibly warm socks and waited patiently for Spike.

“What did Spike bring?” Angel asked casually.

“Oh, the film he gave me earlier is some kind of indie action movie. I haven’t heard of it.” I shrugged.

“No, like… just. now?”

I frowned, puzzled. “… a smile?”

“Ah!” Angel grinned from ear-to-ear. “No gift then?”

I stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed and ate some popcorn. Maybe I should have mixed some vodka with my orange juice. “What?” Angel demanded. “What did I do?”

“I’m here, people.” Spike flopped down on the sofa, resting his feet on the nearest footrest., then whistled appreciatively. “Nice TV, Fred. Looks expensive.”

“They pay us all a stupid amount of money.” I shrugged. “I don’t have any clue how to spend it, honestly.”

“How much?” Spike frowned. I told him. 

He stared at me, almost glassy eyed. “Bloody hell.”

“Better than academia, I’ll tell you that for nothing.” I pushed onwards, feeling slightly uncomfortable in that special way only talking about money could evoke. “Angel’s film first. The Usual Suspects.” 

Spike recovered from his shock, nodding approvingly. “Class choice, Angel.”

“Thanks.” Angel frowned suspiciously.

“I’ve never seen it.” I confessed.

“Me either.” Angel added.

“You’re gonna like it.” Spike had a sip of blood. “Just to clear this up, is this a no-talking movie night or a talking movie night?”

“Talking one. Definitely.” I pushed play on the remote and gulped down some orange juice. “Funny comments, questions, etcetera are all appreciated.”

“Nice.” Angel nodded. “Thanks, Fred. For setting this up.”

“Same on my end.” Spike lifted his mug.

“Thanks for coming, you guys.” I smiled at them. “And for being nice to each other for me.”

“One night in two centuries doesn’t seem so bad to me.” Spike shrugged. “Right, Angel?”

“Right.” Angel nodded. “Let’s enjoy this.”

Orange juice. Popcorn. Comfy clothes. Warm. Sofa. Movie night in with friends. Life was _good_. 

Spike popped out to the kitchen halfway through the film and returned with a few bottles of wine, which we shared generously. I polished off my popcorn right about half an hour before the film ended, which with hindsight was a good thing because my jaw spent most of that last half hour on the floor.

“Oh my god! So he was-”

“Yeah.” Spike grinned.

Angel rubbed his eyes disbelievingly. “The entire-”

“Yep.” Spike smirked, loading his chosen film into the player.

“Inspired film choice.” I nodded approvingly to Angel. “Good job.”

“I’m a man of taste.” Angel shrugged modestly. “And… a man who is out of wine.”

“There’s more in the fridge.” He stood up and moved towards the kitchen. “And would you be a sweetie and grab my ice cream bowl for me? It’s in the fridge. And a spoon from the drawer!”  
“Sure!” Angel called over his shoulder.

“My hero!” I called after him and giggled. 

“What’s so funny?” Spike raised an eyebrow, stretched out on the sofa.

“Life.” I smiled and leaned back on the cushions, closing my eyes. “Life’s funny. And very silly.”

“It can get that way, from time to time.” Spike agreed.

“Like me, right?” I opened my eyes and turned to him. “I mean… I spent weeks being miserable. What was the point? All I did was… _wallow_ in my misery. When I could have been doing great stuff! With all you guys. Every night this week I’ve got a thing with a friend. It’s great. It’s been a _great_ week.” Life was life. It was what it was, Wesley was with who he was with, and I was _finally dealing with it_. God, it felt good too. Too long spent moping.

“Inspiring stuff.” Spike grinned cheekily as I opened my eyes. “Sure you don’t want me to write this down for you?”

I threw a cushion at him. He laughed. “Listen here, _mister_. I’m in a good mood, okay? I had a lovely dinner, delicious popcorn, a _moderate_ amount of wine, I’ve got ice cream coming, watched a scintillating film, and you two haven’t fought all night. Don’t ruin it now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Spike coughed. 

“I really appreciate it, Spike.” I smiled at him broadly, hugging him - a _friendly _hug, mind you. “You two being nice to each other for me. Two of my boys.”

“Fred, look.” Spike squirmed but I held on tight. “Before he gets back, I’m just going to change the mov-”

“What’s going on here?” Angel arrived back at the sofa, carrying a bottle of wine and my ice cream. His eyes widened. “Fred! Don’t tell me you’re-”

“Oh, shut up and hug me!” I leapt up, managed to keep my footing - just! - and embraced him. “Free hugs!”

“Oh. Sure. Great.”

I hugged him a few moments more. “You’re a great friend, Angel.”

“You too, Fred.” His eyes softened. “You mean a lot to me.”

I smiled. “I knew you were fuzzy on the inside. Like a teddy bear. Or a puppet!”

“Okay, you’re sitting back down.”

I sat back down, grabbed Spike’s shoulder and pulled him back onto the sofa - why had he been going to the TV? I had the remote if he needed the volume changed - and pushed play. It wasn’t as good as Angel’s film. Some action movie. Easy watching. I ate ice cream and engaged half of my brain with the action. Another quarter was wondering why Spike was looking uneasy. Maybe he was super invested in the film? (the last quarter was cataloguing the remaining desserts in my kitchen in case I was still hungry after the ice cream). Angel was acting odd too. His forehead all furrowed up. Maybe it was a guy thing? Guys liked action movies right? I could ask Lor… or maybe Wesl… I’d ask Charles later.

The car chase was pretty fun. “Pretty colours!” I gasped at the multicoloured explosion on the screen, as the hero’s car was ripped apart by the blast, remaining windows shattering all at once, the doors hurled in four different directions as the chassis itself began to melt. It really seemed like overki-

“YOU _BASTARD!” _Angel roared, leaping to his feet.

Huh?

“Listen, Angel, I’m sorry.” Spike was on his feet too. “It was stupid of me, a stupid bloody prank. I tried to change the film before you got back, I did! Just don’t do anything rash! I’ll… I’ll buy you a new one, just let me-”

“THAT WAS _MY VIPER!” _Angel roared. Everything after that was kind of a blur. Some thuds, a shattering sound, and a crunch. I frowned.

“My window.” I announced lamely to my empty apartment, looking at the wreckage of my wall. “Angel, you… you threw him out the window. Then jumped after him.”

I looked between the floor - covered in shards of glass - and my feet - covered in very warm but certainly not glass-proof socks - and sighed.

\+ + + + + + +

_I only smile in the Dark_

**Fred**

“One night.” I glared at them. They had the good grace to look sheepish. “Uno. _One_.”

“Fred-”

“Pet-”

“I bring _snacks_.” I silenced them with a glare. “I microwaved otter blood for both of you. I arranged entertainment. I complied with _all_ of your _stupid_ requests. You _promised_ me that you wouldn’t fight. I was having so much fun. And then you fought.”

They shifted uncomfortably. “Do you have _anything to say for yourselves?”_

I glared between them, one eyebrow raised.

“Spike started it.” Angel mumbled. 

I felt myself quiver slightly. One eyebrow twitched entirely of its own accord.

“I mean,” Angel swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’ll drive you to a five-star hotel, uh, get a penthouse suite for you with _everything _included, and have new clothes brought to you for tomorrow morning so you don’t have to pack now, and get your wall fixed by tomorrow evening. Afternoon.”

“I’m sorry.” Spike shuffled on the spot. “My bloody fault. Too poxing clever for my own good. Or stupid, really. Thought it would be funny. I didn’t mean for it to… I didn’t know how much this meant to you, Fred. _Sorry._”

“You had both better _pray,_” I stormed over to the door and pulled on my travelling coat, stepping into comfy shoes. “That I am in a good enough mood to arrange this again next week.”

“Can’t wait.”

“It’ll be great.”

“If I’m not, you will _both pay._” I glared between them. “And if you mess that one up, then so help me, _you_ will wish you still had that bug on your chest, and _you_ will wish Pavayne had dragged you to hell. Clear?”

They both nodded in unison. I sighed exhaustedly. “Get me to a hotel.” I muttered, traipsing out of my apartment.

It had all been going _so well._ Still. It had been fun while it lasted. And there would be next week. Next week we could do this. I smiled: I could do this every week if I wanted, with different friends. There was no rush to do everything right this moment.

I had the rest of my life to look forward to.

\+ + + + + + +

_My only comfort is the night gone black_

**Angel**

I took a brief moment to regret my past decisions. A great many terrible, foolish, and self-destructive decisions that had seemed great at the time of choosing had led me here, to this outcome. An encounter that made two centuries in hell seem suddenly appealing.

“So, uhh…” I swallowed and shuffled some papers around on my desk, before looking up. “How was the hotel, Fred?”

“Passable.” She said cooly, standing perfectly still in front of my desk. Ah. This was going to go exactly as well as I thought it would. Which was not even a little bit.

“Feel free to sit down, Fred, you must be-”

“I’m good standing up.” Fred replied evenly, one eyebrow inching upwards. I swallowed reflexively. “Was there a reason you interrupted my work to drag me here, Angel?”

“Yes!” I nodded, eagerly moving to the part of the conversation where I had facts to back me up. “Right. Something’s come up.”

“Is it a window at 511 windward circle?”

“Yes!” I declared triumphantly. Ha! I knew getting that done before I’d called her in had been a good move. “But also, a case. Kind of. More like work. But fun!”

“What kind of extra work?” Fred frowned suspiciously.

“It’s Vail’s mansion.” I hesitated. “Well, the _ruins_ of Vail’s mansion. Our crews just found something there.”

“Didn’t Sam and Wesley already sweep the whole place and recover everything dangerous or powerful?”

“They did. But apparently he’d put a cloaking spell up on one door, something so well hidden Sam and Wesley didn’t spot it. It fizzled out a couple of hours ago, ran out of juice apparently.” She didn’t look too angry. More interested. That was good. That was a good sign. “So, I’d kind of like you to head over there and do an inventory for me. Make sure none of the mystics steal anything powerful for themselves, cart it all back here, contain it safely.”

“And I’m doing this because Sam and Wesley are off infiltrating that warlock cult, and won’t be back for two more days?” Fred sighed. I nodded sheepishly. “And why exactly am I doing this _now?_ Shouldn’t it wait until they get back? They’re the experts, they’re really good at this.”

“I’m not saying you have to categorise everything.” I said placatingly. “I just want it safely in containment here, rather than out there in the wild. You’re the one I trust to get it all back here safely.”

Fred sighed, tapping her foot thoughtfully. “I… I guess I can fit that into my schedule.”

I sagged with relief. I was still alive. Or undead. Whatever, she hadn’t killed me. “Thanks, Fred.”

“I’ll handle that now, then.” Fred smoothed down her skirt. 

“I’m sorry about last night.” I shuffled some papers around, staring at a spot on my desk. “I… I didn’t want to ruin your evening. He just… I know it’s no excuse, but my damn Viper… I was so mad. I’m sorry.”

“Angel,” I looked up in response to the soothing, coaxing voice. Fred was smiling. She looked so lovely when she smiled. “It’s okay. Just… be better next time?”

“Of course.” I nodded eagerly. “I’ll host it this time. Have somebody install a cinema screen in my apartment or something. I’ll provide human snacks. Ice cream, popcorn, _tacos…_”

Fred’s smile noticeably broadened. “That sounds lovely, Angel.”

“Shall we say same day next week?” I proposed. “And this time, you pick the movies?”

“Sounds good.” Fred leaned forward and put one hand over mine on the desk, smiling warmly. “Love you, Angel.”

“Love you too.” I mumbled, feeling an uncomfortable prickliness wash over me.

Fred giggled and strode from the room, waving goodbye as she closed the door behind her. I let out a relieved sigh and picked up the phone, dialling. “Spike, we’re in the clear.”

“Thank bloody heavens.” Spike’s relief was audible. “She’s not liable to stake us in our sleep anymore?”

“Nope, we’re good.” I frowned. “Should we be concerned that we routinely discuss whether our closest friends are likely to stake us in our sleep?”

“Nah, that’s just smart types for you. Temperamental all of them. Moods as changeable as the weather, underneath all that rational exterior, all a little psycho at heart.” He paused. “Except for Sam.”

“You’ve got a point there.” I admitted. Sam really was something. Clever, kind, and very sweet. And the way she looked… she reminded me very pleasantly of Buf-

An image of myself waking up in the middle of the night, body turning to dust, looking up in the vicious glares of Wesley and Buffy, flashed in front of my eyes.

I shut down my train of thought forcefully. “Anyway, Spike. You need to grab Fred snacks for the event.”

“When is it?”

“Same time next week.”

“Six days away? Bloody hell. You like to keep a man waiting.”

“Some of us have _jobs_.” I snapped. “Besides, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

I felt a small pang. Because I didn’t, not really. Not with Fred. Or Wesley, or Gunn, or Lorne. They were all mortal. Eventually, they’d… they’d pass on. Without me. I’d be alone again. I grimaced, fighting off a deeper wave of melancholy: this wasn’t the time. My friends were all young. Healthy. Access to the best doctors - mystical and mundane - in the world. They all had long lives ahead of them. They deserved nothing less than long, happy lives.

\+ + + + + + +

_You’ll get the message by the time I’m through_

**Fred**

I looked doubtfully at the staircase. Cobwebs stretching from wall to wall. A thick layer of dust coating every step, and resting on the occasional brick jutting haphazardly out of the sides. Wooden, rickety steps that I _knew_ would creak as soon as I stepped on them, an unpleasant draft, and a single flickering lightbulb at the bottom.

This was a murder staircase.

“Soooooo…” I stretched out the word, turning to the mystic next to me. “People have walked down these stairs and _not died_, right?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”  
“And they came back?” I chewed my lip, casting the staircase another glance.

“That’s right.” The man’s lip quivered slightly, mouth curving into a slight smile. “In one piece, if that was going to be your next question.”

I would have been cross if he wasn’t so naive. This was how people died _all the time_ in LA. I set my jaw, mentally readied myself, counted to three, chickened out, counted to _five_, and slowly moved forwards onto the first step.

_Creak._

Of course. I sighed and advanced the rest of the way done, getting ready to duck or dodge if a blade emerged from the wall. Nothing did. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the door: for something he’d bothered to cloak, it was a pretty standard looking door. Sub-standard even, all rotting and probably insect-infested. Eww.

I double checked I was wearing plastic gloves and turned to the mystic who’d accompanied me down here (a further four researchers were lingering nervously on the steps behind us). “So the door _definitely _isn’t trapped?” I frowned.

“That’s right. All the magic died with Vail.” He smirked smugly.

“Didn’t the cloaking spell only stop working like three hours ago?” I raised an eyebrow.

He swallowed and flushed red. “Yes, but-”

“Open it.” I nodded to the door and folded my arms. “If you’re so sure.”

He seemed to find the whole situation a lot less funny all of a sudden. I stepped back onto the stairs, to a safe distance. The stairs creaked behind me as the researchers shuffled up a few stairs. The mystic - Daryl, I think - swallowed and slowly walked up to the door, then - like he was afraid it would bite - lunged forwards, grabbed the door handle, and opened the door.

The door groaned as it swung ponderously open, thudding ominously against the wall behind it. A small cellar dimly lit by dim candlelight lay beyond. “Good job, Daryl.” I smiled encouragingly - no need to let bad blood fester, after all - and advanced slowly into the room, remaining wary in case of a last minute trap. None was forthcoming.

The room was dusty, but not covered in spiderwebs. My footsteps echoed off the flagstones and the walls as I moved towards the centre of the room, eyes sweeping it for objects of interest. I found some. A small armoire propped up against one wall was open, revealing shelf after shelf of ancient-looking books, some bound with leather, others with less… standard bindings. Fleshy looking bindings. One book’s cover rippled as I looked at it and I shuddered, mentally assigning their transport as a job for interns. Wesley would probably be overjoyed to get his hands on those. An image flashed through my mind of the broad smile that would slide onto his face once he saw these. I smiled without meaning to, then sighed and wiped the smile off my face. What could have been. I resolved not to write him a note with them. The last thing I needed to do was heap more guilt onto him. He needed space from me right now. In a week or two, I’d start making overtures of friendship again. Make it clear there were no hard feelings (the thought made me feel better already).

Stacked neatly in what looked like a glass-fronted refrigerator (lord knows where it was drawing power from) were bags upon bags of IV fluid, presumably containing whatever mixture Vail had needed to stay alive back when he had been alive. All the medicine in the world couldn’t save you from a collapsing roof and a magical thunderbolt, though. At least, not yet. Those could be useful to analyse: if whatever it was had general healing properties, it could be useful for stocking. Worst came to worst we could break it down into its constituent chemicals, repurpose them.

Which brought me to the final and most interesting item. “_Hello_, you…” I murmured, walking cautiously up to a small pedestal in the centre of the room. On it sat a rectangular box, its longest edge perhaps two-thirds the length of my forearm. But not just any box. A _puzzle_ box! Gosh, I loved these! I did a full circle around it: each side had a different puzzle lock on it! “Somebody should have told me Christmas was coming early.” I couldn’t help but smile giddily: Wesley loved his books, I loved my puzzles. Especially when there were treasures at the other end of them.

“Get me a bag for this thing.” I gestured to the puzzle box without looking away from it, unable to resist scrutinising one of the puzzles already: demonic runes. Although if I wasn’t mistaken, these runes stood for numbers! Which meant that once I translated them, I could just-

I should solve this back in my office. It would be comfy, cosy, I’d have hot chocolate and biscuits, and could just spend a few hours amusing myself with this thing. Much better than standing up here, in the cold creepy basement of a dead warlock, craning my neck and squinting trying to solve the damn thing.

God, I wanted to solve it right now!

I tore myself away with immense reluctance, and gestured for the others to follow me into the room. “I need a bag for this.” I gestured to the puzzle box. “You four, grab the books first and get them all loaded up. Be careful, I think some of them might bite. Daryl, get me that bag and then supervise down here. Make sure there aren’t any last minute traps to set off.”

I made sure we were all standing well back as Daryl levitated the puzzle box off its pedestal, but no trap was triggered. Twenty seconds later, it was safely sealed in its baggy and I held it up to my eyes, grinning broadly. “You’re coming back with me, yes you are.” I waited a few minutes to make sure nothing else was going to come up, then told Daryl to take over and started heading back to the office.

The whole car journey back, I had to fight not to look at that puzzle box. Thing was magnetic. Could barely tear myself away. It felt so… so important. I was desperate to solve it. I had to find the answer.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I reached absentmindedly for another biscuit, carefully twisting one dial three notches to the right.

_Click, click, click._

I chewed my lip, swiftly checking over the seven dials one more time: all in the correct place, if the star-chart I had on my desk was accurate. The dials - and the painted objects around them - now perfectly recreated the most significant magical constellation currently active, which meant one more side solved. If I’d translated the symbols right.

I pored over the two demonic translation dictionaries on my desk, mouth moving silently as I pieced together the translation. Yes. I had translated them right. Which meant three sides solved out of four. I carefully rotated the box with my right hand, glancing to my left so I could finally grab one of those biscuits I hadn’t been able to find…

… because I’d eaten all of them. Darn it. My stomach rumbled insistently. I glanced at the clock and winced: almost six in the evening. I’d been working on this box for eight hours straight - minus two bathroom breaks and one hastily scarfed down lunch - without even stopping for coffee. I hadn’t needed it to stay focused: this was the most fun puzzle I’d seen in… well… ever. A thrill passed through me at the thought. I _almost_ had it too, I was so close.

So close to finding out what Vail thought was so important he’d locked it into a nearly impenetrable puzzle-locked box, then hidden in a basement underneath his house, which he’d then hidden with a cloaking spell. God, I couldn’t wait to tell Wesley all about this. I wonder if Angel would let me keep the box, as a memento?

But I was getting ahead of myself. I hadn’t opened it yet. I shoved the empty plate of biscuits away and focused on the box’s last side: right, the numbers and runes from earlier. I felt a slight pang of disappointment: this would probably be one of the easier ones. At least for me (I was pretty good with numbers). I chewed on my lip absent-mindedly as I went back and forth between the box, the dictionary, and my notepaper (rapidly filling up with scribbles). I lost myself in the rhythm of it, and by the time I looked up it was quarter to seven. But that didn’t matter. I’d cracked it. My hand trembled as I reached to carefully adjust the concentric wheels of runes, aligning the seven correct symbols… done.

I heard the sound of tumblers sliding away, of internal mechanisms shifting, and couldn’t repress a whimper as the lid of the box _shifted_ rightwards an inch or so and lifted up, some hidden gears unlocking the lid. There was a faint hiss of trapped air escaping from the gap. As well as a soft yellow light emanating from within. I carefully removed the lid and set it down on my desk, peering into the box. The interior was lined with black velvet, and almost completely empty. The sides of the box were very thick (presumably to accommodate the mechanism) leaving a relatively small internal space. Space which - apart from the emptiness - was occupied by the source of the yellow light.

A small glass cube. Ornate wooden edges and vertices. Flowery patterns painted onto the glass around the edges of each face. And seemingly lit from within by a soft light, which turned the glass yellow and made the entire thing glow like a setting sun. Within it were tiny shifting patterns of something that looked like insubstantial wisps of smoke, animated in the manner of a miniature sandstorm. An incredibly soft humming noise was coming from it, but the cube wasn’t vibrating. Curious.

“Woah…” The word escaped from me, and I felt my eyes widen. Now this did look like treasure. 

Subconsciously, my right hand dipped into the box: it was ever so slightly warmer in there than it was in the rest of my office, like the cube was putting out heat as well as light and noise. I slowly reached down, ready to withdraw my hand at the slightest indication of trouble, and let my fingertips ever so gently brush the top-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“We could be confidantes.” I smiled at Wes, shrugging playfully. “Confiding… confidentially!”

“I actually did have something I wanted to ask you.” Wesley murmured softly, eyes alighting on mine. “I wanted to know… how you might feel. About a certain someone.” I felt a rush of warmth despite the chill of the room. He was so _adorable._ Asking how I might feel about a “certain someone”! Such a sweetheart. 

“What would this certain someone be like?” I grinned, bumping my nose against Wesley’s.

“They might be clever. And kind. Prone to moments of bravery. Good-looking.” I giggled. Wesley was certainly clever, impossibly kind, and definitely good-looking. Maybe more like great-looking… definitely more like great-looking. Wesley continued softly. “Someone you know, but who you’d probably like to get to know better.” Oh, I _definitely_ would. 

Who’d have thought Halloween would make for such a perfect opportunity to do so? In a room full of refrigerators stuffed with mystical whats-its like Lorne’s sleep, no less?

Focus, Fred. Focus on Wes. On his words, on his mouth, on those beautifully warm eyes…

“You just have to ask what I feel.” I smiled as widely as I possibly could, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him tighter. That should help encourage him. “Just ask how I feel.”

Wesley smiled and opened his mouth. I pressed a finger to his lips and his brow furrowed.

I pointed to the side of my head. “Whisper it in my ear.” I purred. I felt Wesley lean down, stubble brushing my cheek as his mouth moved to my ear, and I shivered very pleasantly. I wasn’t sure I was gonna be able to answer him before I kissed him. Or even wait for him to ask. Maybe I should just kiss him now…

No. I’d let him ask how I felt about him. Then I could answer by kissing him. Everyone was a winner! I looked into his eyes and waited, my entire body coiled, anticipating. God, I was shaking like a leaf. I was so excited. I looked deep into his eyes - god, he had such _pretty _eyes - and realised I couldn’t wait another-

Wesley drew back ever so slightly, brow furrowing in what looked like confusion. “Fred?” He whispered, voice impossibly low. “Why… why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh. He didn’t get it. Hmm. Men really were terrible at this. Oh well. Why make life hard?

“Because,” I lowered my voice, forcing him to lean it. I spoke slowly, softly, deliberately, taking care not to let my words slur even if I was drunk. “I really, really want to do _this_.”

I closed the last few inches between us and fastened my lips on his, closing my eyes and kissing him. For an awful second, he didn’t respond. Then he did. Oh _boy,_ did he respond. I felt one of his hands move up to cup my cheek and slung my own arm around his shoulders - such _nice_ shoulders - in return (not for balance this time). I deepened the kiss and he let out a soft noise somewhere between surprise and euphoria as I did so. 

A wonderful, soft warmth poured through me, suffusing every limb and crevice. I just about managed to contain a low moan and braced myself against the wall with my free arm to keep from falling over. He tasted like tea and honey and sweetness and something unidentifiable but _good_, and he was wonderfully warm, and so very _gentle_. I felt my oxygen beginning to get away from me and fought against it, trying to prolong the kiss forever. I couldn’t stop now. I couldn’t let the best kiss of my life just be _over_, that wasn’t… what if Wes didn’t want to kiss me again, and this was all I ever had of him? I needed more. It wouldn’t be enough, could never be enough but… but…

Wesley gently broke away, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed a very lovely pink. I gasped for air too, closing my eyes to better capture that _buzz_, to keep that wonderful, impossibly perfect warmth from seeping out of me. “Wow.” I whispered, feeling the broad smile curling onto my face before I opened my eyes and made tentative eye contact.

Wesley looked _confused_. Hmm. That didn’t seem quite good enough. I was hoping for amazed or lovestruck, would have accepted _stunned_, but… but confused? What had I done wrong? “Wes?”

Wesley spoke before I could get another word in. “But… this doesn’t make any sense.” Wesley whispered, eyes _raw_. “This… it doesn’t…”

“It makes all the sense in the world.” I murmured, rubbing my nose against his gently, making eye contact. “Girl meets boy. Girl and boy become friends. Girl wants more. Girl falls… falls in… girl shows him how she feels.”

“You’re drunk.” Wesley stood up ramrod straight. “Fred, I’m so-” He started to shift away, trying to disentangle himself-

“_No_.” I declared firmly, glaring up at him. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you stay _right_ where you are.” 

He stopped moving. “I may be drunk. Mystically.” I reached up and cupped his cheek. “But I know what I want. _Who_ I want. You. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Wesley’s voice was ragged.

“Why?” I frowned, tilting my head. “You’re so sweet. So kind. So very funny. You know me so well, you care so much and… and you’re so, so handsome. And, God, you’re clever. I’ve never met anyone as clever as you and-”

I pretended not to notice Wesley pinching his arm so hard his skin went white as chalk. “- why don’t you believe me?” Unless he did, and he didn’t… he just didn’t… unless _I_ was the problem, and-

“Fred, it’s not what you’re thinking, I _swear_.” Wesley’s voice was suddenly urgent, and he was tilting my chin up to better make eye contact, the words pouring out of him like a tidal wave. “You just… outside the lifts, what you said to me… you said there was no room for… for office romance. _Ever_.”

“Oh!” I giggled. Oh, _that_ was it. Gosh that made sense. In a male kind of way. I giggled some more.

“What’s so funny?” Wesley frowned.

“You _totally_ missed the point of that whole conversation.” I tamped down my smile and made my voice serious. This was serious business. “I was… I was just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Wesley frowned. “What… what do you-”

“Of Sam.” I pouted. 

“Oh.” Wesley looked even more confused. “Why?”

“Because she _wants_ you.” I reached up to cup his cheek and pressed a light, all-too-brief kiss to his lips. “And _I_ want you. I want to keep you all to myself. I want you to be mine.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. I struggled to get the words out, feeling my voice tremble. “Will… will you be mine?” Could he still care about me? After… after everything that happened, the loss, the time, the judgements, the-

“I’m dreaming.” Wesley whispered, looking down at me with an entirely new expression. My heart skipped a beat: _that_ was lovestruck. I was almost sure of it. I really hoped he was. “This… this can’t possibly be happening.” He looked _happy_. So happy.

Almost as happy as I felt. New energy surged through me, and I smiled wider. “Could you… dream this?” I stood up on tiptoes and kissed him softly. Sweetly. Lovingly. I kissed him gently, slowly exploring every inch of him, taking my time to map him out. I drew out the ending the most, making it clear how _sad_ I was to break it off. I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

“No.” Wesley whispered. “No, I… I couldn’t.”

“Then…” I swallowed and smiled hopefully. “Will you… be mine?”

“Yes.” Wesley whispered, smiling wider than I’d ever seen him smile. His hand came up to gently brush one stray curl of hair off my cheek, then lingering to gently stroke me with his thumb. I shivered in a very pleasant way. “With all of my mind. With all of my soul. With all of my heart.”

God, I must look so stupid, my smile felt wide to split me in two! But he didn’t seem to mind, the way he was looking.

God, the way he _looked_ at me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world.

“Then I’ll be all yours.” I stroked his lips gently. They were so soft. “Wesley?”

“Fred?” His voice was hushed. Reverent.

I shuddered. “Hold me.” His arms were instantly wrapped around me. I wrapped mine around him.

“Fred?” Wesley sounded nervous. I smiled sweetly at him. “Please… please kiss me?”

I kissed him. Time ceased to matter. Everything ceased to matter, except Wesley. The feel of him against me, of his arms, of his sweet, loving, _incredible_ kisses. Kisses that made me want never to speak or breath or do anything with my mouth again aside from kiss him. “Lord, I’m so _stupid._” I gasped in-between kisses.

“Nonsense.” Wesley growled softly, causing my heart to speed up an unreasonable amount. “You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever known.”

“Okay, maybe-” A silent thrill shot through me at the thought that Wesley thought _I_ \- and not someone who would remain nameless, and _un-kissed_ \- was the most intelligent person he knew. “But, wait, stop just one second!”

Wesley drew back ever so slightly and locked eyes with me. I restrained a little whimper at the intensity in his eyes. “So-”

“One.” Wesley closed the gap again. I couldn’t stifle a giggle (until Wesley stifled it for me) at first, then lost all track of what I’d been saying. Wesley gently pulled away some indeterminate amount of time later.

“Sorry, you were saying something?” Wesley’s eyes gleamed. “I interrupted you.”

“Right, yes.” I nodded and frowned, trying very hard to remember what I’d been saying. I felt my nose wrinkle and brow furrow, and a second later Wesley’s smile broadened, eyes gently tracing my face. I felt myself flush slightly. “Right just gimme one seco-” Wesley smirked. “No, like, forty-five seconds!”

Wesley looked disappointed. I rolled my eyes and collected my thoughts. “Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong. Drunk kisses - _typically_ not the best kisses, right?”

“Correct.” Wesley’s brow furrowed. “But-”

I cut him off. “But _these_. I mean… wow, right? They’re wow for you too?”

“Very wow.” Wesley replied earnestly, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“Look, what I’m saying is… if this is how good our drunk kisses are, think about how much better it’s all going to be later.” I paused for a moment. “So considering how amazing the kissing is, and how amazing you are, how _stupid_ is it that I waited for _months_ to kiss you?”

“Not even a little bit.” Wesley’s gaze softened. “Fred, I don’t mind that-”

“I should have kissed you at the dinner after we saved Nina…” I sighed. “Or… or when you reassured me after Pavayne broke my machine… or I should really have told Angelus to go _screw himself_, and kissed you right there on the stairs in the Hyperion. I… I’m sorry. I kept you waiting so long, and… and I’ve _never_ made it even remotely easy for you, and-”

“If there is anything in this wide, beautiful world worth waiting for, you are.” Wesley interrupted me gently and kissed my cheek. “I don’t want someone who’ll make life easy for me. I want someone who challenges me, who excites me, who pushes me and makes me want to do the best I can do, be the best I can be. I want _you_.” He kissed my other cheek.

I suddenly felt very unsteady on my feet. And my stomach had been invaded by a swarm if butterflies. My whole body was trembling ever so slightly, in the nicest possible way. 

“And, in answer to whatever point it was that I kept you from making…” Wesley looked me in the eyes and smiled. “You are absolutely, completely, uniquely perfect.” He kissed me gently, chastely on the lips. A perfect conclusion.

“I…” Oh, god. How was I ever supposed to express what that meant to me? “Wesley, I… I just… I don’t have your silver tongue, especially _now_, I… I don’t know how to…” But I did know how.

“Fred,” Wesley smiled. “You don’t have to resp-”

I gently placed one finger over his lips and closed my eyes, thinking. My best friend. The one who challenged me. Completely worth waiting for (even if I really wish I hadn’t). Clever, funny, sweet, kind, precious in all the right ways and-

A memory flashed before my eyes. That night at the Hyperion. The storm. Wesley’s office. He’d stumbled in out of the rain, dripping wet, cursing the foul weather, staggered into his office, and found a crazy girl hiding under his desk, clutching a sharpened pencil. And instead of yelling, or encouraging me to leave, or telling me it was all okay he… 

He read to me. He’d been there for me. He’d _understood_ me. 

Had anybody else ever _really_ understood me? Everyone thought they did, my friends understood parts of me, my parents understood other parts but… but I wasn’t sure anyone did. Except Wesley. But I was thinking in circles. Pointlessly. I knew how I felt.

“Wes…” I made eye contact and smiled, hating the frayed nerves screaming at me to wait, to push this down and pretend I hadn’t thought. “I love you.”

He blinked. Repeatedly. Then I saw his eyes were damp. “I love _you_.” He almost choked on the words, tears pouring down his cheeks, and I realised _I_ was crying too, so I pulled him into a tight, close hug that I never wanted to leave. “I love you so much. You’re… you’re my whole world.”

“I love you.” I buried my head in his shoulder. “So much. You’re _everything_ to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you, I… I…”

Words failed me. But Wesley didn’t. I clung to him more tightly than I’d ever clung to anyone. I didn’t know for how long. Eventually I realised I’d stopped crying, and that he’d stopped crying, so I tilted my head upwards and drew him into a passionate kiss.

Time had a habit of getting away from me when I was kissing Wesley. It was strange. I had no idea how much later I was when Wesley - in the panting aftermath of a longer-than-average kiss - frowned and said hesitantly. “Was there… a _reason_ why we came down here?”

I frowned. “Huh.” It was a little odd that we were in Psych component storage. Why would we… “Privacy, maybe?” My frown deepened.

Wesley brightened. “Ah, that makes perfect sense.” He bent down and I gently shifted my head, restricting myself to a light kiss. He looked crestfallen.

I giggled. “Look, Wes, I… I think there was another reason we’re down here.” I looked him up and down, then frowned. “Does it have something to do with your shirt being missing?”

“No, that was, ah, you.” Wesley nodded to the side. I glanced over there: Wesley’s shirt was lying partially unbuttoned on the floor. The buttons that had not been undone appear to have popped off somehow, like… like I’d ripped the shirt open to get it off faster?

That seemed familiar. After the confession, it had all been a bit of a blur. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t say sorry.” Wesley smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“But it’s so cold in here!” I looked around at all the freezers, horrified. “Wes, you must be _freezing_!”

“You didn’t really give me a chance to lose any heat…” Wesley mumbled, then frowned. “Were we down here to get something from the freezers?”

I frowned. That did sound right. “Ice cream?” I said hesitantly, wracking my brains.

“No, something else.” Wes frowned. “Something for Lorne. Or Angel. Something important, I think. Something-”

I kissed his cheek. “It can wait.”

Wesley frowned. “But what if-”

I looked up at him, widening my eyes deliberately, putting the slightest tremble into my hopeful smile. “Please?”

“Of course, of course.” Wesley nodded, smiling. “We can…”

He trailed off and frowned. “You just pulled a Raggedy Ann on me.”

“That sounds untrue.” I kissed him. “Mmm.”

“No, I think that you…” I cut him off. From speaking, and also from oxygen. “I mean… what was I saying?”

“Something not relevant to kissing.” I smiled, tracing one finger along his very swollen lips. 

Wesley returned the favour and I purred. “Not relevant at all, then.”

I smiled. “_Now_ you’re getting it.”

Wesley smiled fondly. “I love you.”

I bumped my nose against his playfully. “I love you too.” I reached up to cup his cheek and smiled. “Now… where were-”

I heard a crashing noise and spun around: the doors to Psych component storage had swung open so hard they’d slammed into the walls on either side - and left _marks_ \- and marching through them was _Sam_, emerald eyes almost glowing in the half-light, an expression of utmost concentration on her face.

Oh, no, she _did not._

“Sam, this… this is a restricted area! Practical science personnel only!”I pointed an accusing finger at her. “Get out of here now, or-”

The world seemed to spin suddenly until I was steadying myself against Wesley for balance and I yelped as I tried to stay upright. Wesley’s brow was furrowed. “Sam, what on earth is-”

One of Sam’s hands went to the back of Wesley’s head, pushing it down until his mouth was next to my ear. Rage pulsed through me. “SAM! I swear, you had better-”

Her hand clamped around my forearm. “Thanks for the memories.” She smiled sweetly at me.

The whole room felt suddenly colder, less warm, less alive, what was-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I lunged backwards away from my desk, away from the box, away from the cube, heart pounding, blood roaring in my ears. I stumbled and braced myself against the window, gasping for air. That was… it…

It had felt so _real._ Like I’d been there. I could still practically feel Wesley, I felt out of breath, and… and…

What the _hell_ was that thing?

_I’m only happy when it rains_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are slightly adapted from "Only Happy When It Rains" by Garbage.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	15. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred looks for answers.

**Fred**

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. God, I needed some cold water. A bucket of it dumped on me. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack. I grabbed the glass of water off my desk and gulped it down, then put it back on the desk and put one hand over my eyes, breathing deliberately, deeply, slowly.

I counted to ten and removed my hand, swallowed, and leaned carefully over the edge of my desk. The cube was still just sitting there, nestled inside the puzzle box. Vail had locked this thing up in his secret room. And unlike everything else in there, he’d put it behind another layer of protection. The puzzle box. The intricate, incredibly difficult to open puzzle box. Which meant this thing was either incredibly valuable or incredibly dangerous.

Or it was both.

Ok. Valuable, dangerous. And its power was somehow related to hallucinations. _Vivid_ hallucinations. I fought down a blush at the memory and went to neaten my hair, realising a second later that my hair wasn’t messy, because it hadn’t had a pair of hands running through it at any point recently. That had just been the cube.

Maybe it was a dark artefact. That would make sense. Similar to the Mirror of Erised. Meant to show people their most desperate desires, to make them vividly real, so that they’d waste away out of despair at being so _close_ to having what they wanted, and yet so far. I sagged into my chair and closed my eyes again. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It was stupid, and magic, and _fake_, it hadn’t been real but… 

But it had felt _perfect_. And yet so realistic. Those had been the exact clothes we were wearing that night, we’d been in Psych component storage, even the conversation had been the same up until… well, up until it had diverged _enormously_ because in the memory he hadn’t mentioned Sam.

Oh, God, Sam. What was wrong with me? I’d promised her that I would never try to come between her and Wes, that I wouldn’t even think of him in that way and then I’d… I’d just… this cube.

And it was yet more evidence for the cube being a dark artefact. Because the way it had portrayed things, what it had shown me… everything would be so neat and tied up with a pretty little bow if it was true. ‘Look, Fred! Wesley really does love you, and Sam? She’s _totally_ evil, and you should feel completely justified in pursuing Wesley! Best of luck!’

It felt almost like Macbeth and the witches. Maybe that was the point. Not to have people waste away but… but to drive them _mad_. Mad with longing, or with anger. To show them things that convinced them that their friends were their enemies, that all their dreams were _just_ within reach if the people around them got what was coming to them. Maybe that was why Vail had locked it up. Because it was something too evil and powerful even for him to want to meddle with.

Or maybe he’d locked it up to keep it to himself. Maybe it wasn’t an evil artefact, maybe it was a… a _toy._ Maybe it just showed you what you most wanted to be true. No malice. No wickedness in its artifice, but only in the beholder. Maybe it could be controlled, compelled to construct a vivid hallucination of anything you conceived of. Maybe it had only shown me that because I had no magic, had no idea how to control it, so it just latched on to desire for Wesley and run with it.

Oh, God. My cheeks warmed again and I hid my face in my hands as a wave of guilt crashed over me. I was _pathetic._ This cube… it was like I’d spied on Wesley while he was undressing. I’d used him like a prop, a toy, used a fantasy version of him to gratify myself…

It was unspeakably awful. I set my jaw and clenched my fists: whether it was an evil artefact orsome twisted plaything, I was _never_ touching this box again. Never. I would not give in to this. I refused to take any risk of dong that to Wesley. Or to myself. God, I was supposed to be moving on, getting on with my life, I couldn’t be living out dreams with a magic box, fantasising about my _very happily coupled_ best friend. 

I marched to the side cabinet and pulled open the drawer, grabbing a bulky hazard glove and slipping it onto my right hand. This box was going straight into Wesley’s vault. He’d told me the code to get in (just as I’d told him the code for my lockup, for security reasons), so I was going to pick up this box being _exceptionally_ careful to avoid touching it again, go upstairs, and seal it away. Then once Wesley and Sam got back, I would show it to them. They could take care of it. Either way, I was never going to risk touching that thing again. 

“_Fred!_” The voice roared from the doorway.

“I didn’t do anything!” I yelped, spinning to face the door, and-

It was Lorne. And he didn’t look angry, just frustrated and… and bemused. And of course he had no idea what had happened with the box, so this wasn’t about that… so why was he here? Oh!

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” I pointed triumphantly to the calendar taped on the wall by the door. “Dinner at 7:30, sharp. Then the theatre.” Lorne had gotten dressed up in advance, wow. Super fancy.

Lorne raised an eyebrow, smirked, and pointed to the clock. I glanced up at it and did a double-take. It was _ten past eight?_ But it hadn’t even been six a second ago, how had-

Had I been in there for two hours? No that couldn’t be right, it hadn’t been… it was a hallucination. Who knows how long a second in there lasted out here? It might not even be a constant factor, for all I knew it could vary with-

“You’re not even dressed?” Lorne sounded disbelieving, looking me up and down. He sighed and groaned. “Fredikins, why do you make my life so hard?”

“It’s not my fault, Lorne, I swear! I-” I picked up a magic box, hallucinated about kissing Wesley for two hours, and woke up feeling hot and bothered, and cross? I almost died of embarrassment just thinking about confessing that. Oh, no. “It was totally my fault. I’m so sorry. Let me just take something to lock up in-”

“Oh, no.” Lorne shook his head determinedly, fishing a phone out of his jacket. “I will call the theatre and have them delay the curtain rising, and I will have food brought to our limo so you can snack on the way there. _You_ are coming with me, to get changed, so that we can get out there and have fun, _now!”_

“I…” There was no way out of this. I couldn’t convince Lorne to let me take the cube to the vault, it would take forever to get through all the security, find a box, and lock everything up again. Not without explaining I’d opened Vail’s box (which I now had no way of sealing again), and found the cube, which would lead to questions about what it did that I was… not prepared to answer.

Especially as he’d be able to read exactly what had happened all over my aura as soon as we started talking about it. “Just give me _one minute_ Lorne. One minute in my office while you make the call, and I’ll be out.”

“You have forty-five seconds.” Lorne raised a finger and wagged it. “No longer! We’re already late, sugar plum.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be there!” Lorne closed the door and I sagged with relief. Not much time. Eve if I couldn’t lock it up right now, I couldn’t leave it here to inspire some poor colleague to go on a rampage.

I ducked under the desk to grab my handbag and put it down on the edge of my desk, unzipping it. I frantically emptied it of everything except my house keys and purse, pulled it open as wide as I could and leaned back over the puzzle box. My gloved hand shook as I slowly, tentatively poked the cube: no hallucination. Thank goodness. I gripped the cube more tightly -cursing the awkwardness of the glove, which was basically an oven mitt - and lifted it out of the box, moving it slowly towards my handbag-

“Tick-tock Fred!” Lorne called out. Which made me jump.

Which made me drop the cube. It spun lazily through the air at an angle, arcing towards the floor. 

I lunged and caught it, letting out a gasp of pre-emptive relief as my bare fingers closed around-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

-tilted my head backwards and pulled Wesley closer, nails unintentionally digging into his back, and trying not to let me knees give at the growl he made in response. His thumb began to stroke soft circles on my cheek and he deepened the kiss. I moaned and-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“_No! Bad!_” I dropped the cube - which I’d caught with my _un-gloved_ hand - into my handbag and zipped it back up. I braced myself on the edge of the desk, taking several long deep breaths and trying very hard to convince my heart to stop going at a hundred miles an hour. It felt so damn real.

I needed a cold shower.

“Fred!” Lorne sounded less indulgent than before.

I gulped. “Coming!” I called out. I fixed a bashful expression on my face and dashed out to meet him.

\+ + + + + + +

**Lorne**

I laughed uproariously, along with the rest of the audience, at the actors’ antics. Holy hell, to think I’d been reduced to tears of laughter by the banana peel trick… but reinvented so artfully here, so well set up, in such a way you’d never consider it was going to happen until it did so at the most _tense, emotional moment_ and you almost fall out of your seat laughing.

Unless you’re Fred. She was sitting almost motionless in her seat next to mine, pointing towards the stage. I surreptitiously leaned forwards a few inches: as expected, her eyes were vacant and unfocused. Nobody who was paying attention could have failed to laugh. Which raised the question of what was wrong? Was it something to do with why she’d been late earlier?

“Fred, everything okay?” I murmured to her, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Huh?” She spun around, winced and modulated her voice. “Oh, I’m fine.” She smiled.

“You’re not paying attention to the play.” I said slowly. “You love the theatre. And tonight you’re late to the play, miss out on a delicious dinner, and now you’re here you’re miles away. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing! Really, I just…” Fred bit her lip. Ah, here it came. “It’s just the work I’ve been doing on Vail’s secret cache.”

“Ah.” I nodded, trying to look even vaguely knowledgeable.

“I found something and it’s been bothering me.” She shifted uncomfortably.

_Oh._ The puzzle box. No wonder she was late and vacant. She’d probably been so absorbed trying to solve the damn thing she’d lost all track of time. That made sense. “But good bothering, right?”

“Not really.” Fred hesitated, then flushed. “Kinda. Look… is it okay if I sing a few bars? Just really quick? Just to check there’s no dark mojo or anything clinging to me?”

Woah. One of my friends _offering_ to sing for me? This could not be good. “Hit it.”

Fred frowned for a moment, then nodded and sang very quietly. “Been a long time gone,”

I closed my eyes and tilted my head. It was always a pleasure to hear Fred sing. Especially since all I got to do these days was listen to Wolfram and Hart stooges, checking just how untrustworthy they were. Sorting between the malevolent and the merely distasteful. A barrage of petty hates, of selfishness, of… Fred wasn’t like that. Not at all. There was always _warmth_. No matter what else was there, she always exuded compassion. Concern. A desire for… for people to be happy, that suffused her entire aura. Something very special.

“Lord, I ain't had a prayer since I don't know when,” Dixie Chicks, alright. Pretty standard for Fred.Now current state was coming through. She was doing better. Generally, that was. She was happy. Glad to be seeing more of all of us. She was digging herself up out of her hole like a _champion_, just as I thought. God, I wish I could have been cheering her all the way, but of course she wouldn’t have let me. But there was an undercurrent of worry, of guilt… which were to be completely expected when you were still crushing on your best friend, who was off limits by virtue of being within the limits of someone else.

“Long time gone, and it ain't comin' back again.” Future… her future… I did the spiritual equivalent of a squint…

Normal. Completely normal future. At least in the short term, which is what we were looking at here. We weren’t going for a whole destiny reading, been there, done that… yes. She was going to get better, keep getting happier. No danger. No risks. No traces of any dark mojo of any kind.

I signalled Fred to stop. She looked at me, eyes worried, expression anxious. I smiled reassuringly. “You’re completely clean. No dark mojo of any kind.”

“And you could sense that, right? You’d be able to tell if I was… under the influence of something wicked?” Fred pleaded.

“Of course I would.” I tapped her shoulder. “You are 100% dark mojo free.”

Fred visibly relaxed. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No worries.” I winked, and nodded to the stage. “How much did you miss thinking?”

Fred hesitated. “Most of it.”

Not even I could get them to start the play again. “Okay, Fredikins, here’s the highlights…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I glanced left and right: empty corridor. Satisfied, I carefully opened up my handbag and withdrew my keys without touching the cube. I unlocked the door to my apartment and slipped in, shutting the door behind me. And turning the deadbolt for good measure. I let out a deep breath.

I was so confused. I was no closer to any answers about the cube. Further from them, if anything. Because it wasn’t unduly influencing me, according to Lorne (who was currently on his way home in the limo after we’d bid each other goodnight with a hug and air kisses) which ruled out the dark artefact theory. But if it was some kind of toy to generate vivid hallucinations on demand, why would it show me something that I was desperate _not_ to see the second time I’d touched it? And for that matter, what had been up with Sam at the end of the first hallucination? That had just been so _weird_. The spinning, her grabbing us and moving us around like marionettes… and then her saying ‘thanks for the memories’?

Surely, if we were going with the fantasy box theory, we’d expect Sam to try something evil and for me to foil her? That would be the ‘ideal’ fantasy. Not that that was my _fantasy, _I’d just meant that…

Why me?

Either way, no reason to stand here all dressed up thinking about it. These heels - chosen by me while I was daydreaming about the cube - were insanely uncomfortable. I kicked them off and marched into my bedroom. The hair thingies were coming out next. 

Five minutes later, hair let down messily, insanely fancy dress procured by Lorne hung up in the wardrobe, and with pyjamas (and slippers) on, I pulled open my kitchen drawer, withdrawing a thin knife and a pair of oven mitts. I put the oven mitts on both hands and carefully teased the box out of the handbag, even more carefully transferring it to the kitchen table.

I couldn’t risk breaking it, like I nearly had dropping it in the office. That would be a disaster! This thing looked so fragile, and who knew what would happen if it smashed near me? It could explode for all I knew, or suck me into some weird fantasy dimension where Wesley was-

Oh, no. Not thinking about that. No way.

I carefully balanced the knife on top of the cube so the metal blade was entirely in contact with the upper face. I waited a few moments to check it was steady, and walked over to my work bookcase. I frowned as I perused it: not many books on magical devices. I pulled out the largest one and walked back to the table, deliberately sitting at the far end from the cube. I was taking no chances: last thing I needed was to stretch, accidentally touch it and have another episode. Half an hour later I’d made no progress. 

I stretched - mentally patting myself on the back for _excellent_ foresight - and walked back down the cube. I lifted up the knife by the handle and pressed one finger to the blade. Hot, but not boiling. So it wasn’t putting out too much energy. I glared at the cube. “What are you?” I huffed. The cube was frustratingly silent. “C’mon! I’ll figure you out eventually, just save us both the time!”

Clearly this cube was going to be an unhelpful specimen. “You stupid glowing box. I’m not touching you again.” I glared at it. “I hate you.”

I was having an argument with an inanimate object. Clearly I needed some sleep. But I wanted to _know_… 

I’d compromise. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, took the book on magical objects and curled up in bed, plumping up the pillow until it made a good backrest. I tugged the duvet up nearly to my shoulders and tried to read by the light of the bedside lamp. One chapter later I wasdesperately tired, and a little thirsty. I propped the book open on the duvet and wiggled out, padding towards the kitchen. I yawned as cold tap-water filed up the glass, sipped it, and headed back towards my room. I stopped at the table and frowned.

Had… had the cube _moved?_ I would swear it was closer to the edge now. I bent down next to the table and squinted at it: that had totally moved, right? Just a couple of inches but… this sneaky little piece of mystic trash! 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I growled. I put down my glass of water and snatched up the oven mitts, carrying the box through into the bedroom. I wrapped it carefully in a blanket (no risk of touching it by accident) and placed it on the middle of the mattress. _There_. Try moving and falling off now, stupid cube. 

I walked back to grab my water, aggressively sipped it, and rested it on my bedside table, tucking myself in tightly again and picking up my book. Another chapter passed by with a spectacular lack of useful information.Lord, I was tired. And uncomfortably warm. When had it got so _hot_, I was boiling under here! I pulled off my pyjama top and threw it across the room.

Five minutes later I was too hot again. I threw off the duvet and groaned in frustration: what was going on, it felt like I was sleeping with a hot water bot-

The goddamn cube! I leaned over and picked up the blanket wrapped bundle of evil: hot as a furnace. I growled and partially unwrapped it so I could see it better, keeping a tight grip on it through the blankets with one hand. I glared at it. “You think this is funny.” I smirked. “But I’ve _beaten_ your little game. And I am never, _ever_ going to-”

I sneezed. And again the cube slipped from my grasp, falling into slow motion. No risk of it breaking this time though: it would just land on the mattress, or on-

Oh fish-sticks. I was too tired and sluggish to dodge fast enough, and the cube landed squarely on my bare stomach.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

What was I supposed to do? I wanted to pace, but I couldn’t pace, pacing would _obviously_ make things worse. Stress Sam out. I glanced over: she was just sitting in that armchair, knees hugged to her chest, untouched cup of tea sitting on the armrest, staring into empty space. Sam looked numb.

God, this was awful. Sam was… she’d been forced to kill someone. To save our lives, she’d… she’d never even been in a fight before, she wasn’t capable of hurting a fly and… and she’d shot someone, with the rifle I’d given her, to save our lives, and now she looked almost like a ghost. I couldn’t leave her. Not now. Not for a good long while. She needed somebody here. I would be right here for her, for as long as it took.

“Sam,” I carefully approached the chair. “You should drink your tea.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nodded listlessly and picked up the cup. She drank two quick sips and put it back down. “Thanks, Fred.”

“Sam, what happened, it’s… you know it’s not your fault. Right?” I said slowly, kneeling down next to the chair, making tentative eye contact.

“Did somebody else shoot and kill him while I wasn’t looking?” Sam mumbled.

“No. No, that’s not what I…” Oh, why was I so bad at this? “You probably saved Wesley’s life. Maybe mine too. And you kept Angel from being enslaved for all eternity by that will-sapping staff the cyborg stole from the vault. You saved the day. You didn’t have any choice.”

“Maybe.” Sam hung her head and closed her eyes. When she next spoke, her voice was a whisper. “I… I really _try _to be a _good_ person. Why… why can’t I be a good person, Fred?”

Oh, no. “Sam… you’re the sweetest, kindest, most _good_ person I’ve ever met.” I told her honestly. “And I am going to stay right here with you okay? I am going to be here with you, for you. I will stick to you like glue until Wes gets here, and then we’re going to get you home, and make sure you feel better. Alright?”

“Alright.” Sam smiled shyly. Wesley would know how to help her. He knew her best. I was just a bandaid. But I took that job seriously. I was not leaving this room, heck, I was not moving more than four feet from her until Wesley was here.

Sam’s hand shifted ever so slightly on the armrest. Like it had moved towards me, then been withdrawn. Poor thing. I splayed my fingers to rest my hand on top of hers and squeezed reassuringly. 

For a half second, her green eyes seemed even more luminous than normal. 

“Okay,” I stood up and smiled reassuringly. “You… you stay _right_ here and I’m gonna get you a care package, okay? Books, marshmallows, biscuits… more tea. The works. A real pick-you-up.”

“Thank you, Fred.” Sam smiled the tiniest, most nervous smile. “I… I really appreciate you doing this.”

“Don’t be silly.” I smiled in return. “This is what you need right now. I’ll be right back.”

I turned and swept from the room. I had most of that stuff in my office, so I just had to catch the lift up there and-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Ugh…” I clamped my eyes shut against the offensive sunlight and groaned softy. Then not so softly. I felt _terrible_. I felt hot, sweaty, weirdly sticky, my stomach was raw, and my throat was parched. God, what time was it?

And I’d had such _weird_ dreams. About Angel apologising for breaking my window. Vail’s house. A puzzle box with an incredibly infuriating magic cube locked inside it. The cube making me have dreams inside my dream… going to the theatre with Lorne, going home, reading, taking the cube into the bedroom with me just to be safe and-

Dropping it on my stomach. I snapped my eyes open and swallowed, looking around, and being very careful not to move my lower body at all. I was only half under the duvet, there was a red mark on my stomach (right where the soreness was) about the same size as the cube, and on the rolled over duvet next to me was a small, glowing cube.

I swallowed and shuffled carefully away from it, then stood up and backed away from the bed. I glanced around and winced: it was morning. Late morning, from the looks of it. I’d slept all night. Or to be more accurate, I’d been hallucinating all night. First about kissing. And kissing again, and again, and _again._ Then about… the night Sam had shot that cyborg. The office, afterwards. Except it was different because… because as soon as I’d got there I’d been too uncomfortable to stay there with her, and had gone straight out to get her a comfort package. I hadn’t promised to stay there, and then randomly changed my mind as soon as I squeezed her hand. That didn’t make any sense.

I felt rather light-headed, and sweaty, and very…

Oh. Oh, _why_. I needed a cold shower. I sprinted into the bathroom, thanked whatever angel was watching over me (and mostly doing a lousy job) that Spike wasn’t here, turned on the cold water, and jumped in. I forced myself to huddle under the jets of cold water until I was feeling vaguely sane again, then turned up the temperature again. 

I resolved not to question the cube any longer. I was going straight to work, I was going to lock it in Wesley’s vault, and show him it when I got back. And explain what it did.

Minus the part where it caused me to spend an entire night hallucinating about him.

Vividly.

\+ + + + + + +

**Gunn**

“Hey! Fred!” I called after her, jogging to catch up.

She turned around and smiled. “You were ten minutes late.” I smirked. “I called all the hospitals. And the diners.”

“Ha ha ha.” Fred rolled her eyes and grinned. “_So_ funny.”

“You know it.” I nodded to the handbag she was gripping so tightly her knuckles were white. “What’s in there, the crown jewels?”

“Nothing!” Fred’s eyes widened. “Nothing! Except air, obviously, why would you think there was something…”

I raised an eyebrow.

“… there’s nothing.” She finished lamely, flushing slightly.

“Okay then.” I shrugged, eyeing the handbag curiously. What could have her so worked up? “Imust confess, my motives for accosting you weren’t entirely altruistic.”

“Oh, just morbid curiosity then?” Fred frowned crossly. Lord, she looked so cute when she did that. So _very_ disapproving.

“What’s morbid about air, exactly?” I shot back with a smirk.

“I retract my statement. Intensely _irritating_ curiosity.” Fred raised an eyebrow. “Better?”

“Much.” I paused. “Look, I need your help winning a case.”

“My help? With a legal case?” Fred frowned, then sighed. “How badly did you screw up?”

“It’s not screwing up. I just… lulled them into a false sense of security.” I swallowed. “Or, I thought I did.”

“Only it’s turned out to be a very justified and secure sense of security?” Fred raised both eyebrows.

“Pretty much.” I grimaced. “I need some kind of drug synthesised. Something that’ll make a witness incredibly hostile, irritable, and unreliable, but something undetectable.”

“And which will have no long-run harmful effects.” Fred mused, chewing on one lip thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Of course. Goes without saying.” I noted her grip on the handbag had loosened. Of course it had, she was thinking about a difficult problem. I felt an insatiable itch of curiosity.

And I was gonna scratch it.

I lunged forwards and snatched the handbag from her loose grip, spinning around to shield it from her with my body as I opened it up.

_“CHARLES!”_

Oh, I was so in for it later. This would be worth it, it would be-

A small cube-shaped light. Wow. That was boring. I reached in and picked it up, lifting it out of the handbag. I heard Fred gasp from behind me. She sounded scandalised.

“A light?” I turned to face her, tapping the side of it experimentally. A tiny little glass cube, glowing with a soft yellow light. Fred’s eyes were wide, and she was looking between me and the cube, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. It wasn’t even that energy efficient, if the gentle warmth coming off it was any indication. It wasn’t bright either, so why would she-

Oh. Oh, damn, I was a bastard. Her night light. My stomach twisted with guilt. Sometimes Fred got scared. Alone in the dark. And when there wasn’t someone to cuddle, to cling to and reassure her she was safe, she’d sometimes used a nightlight. To remind herself she wasn’t in that cave. She’d hardly ever used it when we were together. But one or two nights, she’d flicked it on, and looked at me _pleadingly_, silently begging me to leave it on, to not mention it. So I hadn’t.

And now I was like a bully in a playground, laughing and snatching away a toy from a kid half may size.

“Sorry.” I swallowed, proffering it to Fred. “I’m so sorry, Fred.”

Fred was very quiet. She slowly reached out a hand, and poked my shoulder. “You can see me?” Her eyes darted between my hand and my face, brow furrowing.

“Yes?” I said hesitantly.

“And hear me.” She murmured under her breath. “Huh.”

One of those days, then. I meekly put the cube back in her handbag and handed it back to her. She took it, chewing gently on her lower lip.

“Forget about the case.” I said softly, and made to leave.

“No, we can help.” Fred followed after me, expression still slightly vacant.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” I frowned, glancing over my shoulder. I would have sworn she’d been going towards-

“I was, but something came up.” Fred opened the next broom closet we passed and ducked inside without a word.

I frowned and scratched my head, then shrugged. Mine was not to reason why.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Why hadn’t it affected Charles? Why had he been able to just stand there without being pulled into dreamland? It didn’t make any sense, practically his entire hand had been in contact. All it took for me was for one finger to brush it, and it would-

Unless…

It could have run out of charge after a night’s worth of use. That was one explanation. The other was…

Test the first explanation first. I grimaced, extended one finger, and tapped the top of the cube.

I jerked my hand out of the handbag and suppressed a pleasant shudder.

It still worked. Very well. I let out a frustrated noise. “Do you exist solely to torture _me_?” I demanded, shaking the bag. “Just me, in particular, exclusively and in perpetuity?”

The cube again declined to confess. “Well, I’m just gonna have to test you on other people then, aren’t I?” I growled. “And if you don’t work on anyone else, I am going to be _very_ pissed.”

“And then I am going to get answers, _today_.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Charles, Lorne, Dr Sill, two lab assistants, the janitor, and three (randomly selected) lawyers. Nobody else had reacted to it. Not even a little. Just me. Only I was susceptible to whatever this thing did. I had no idea why: because I’d been the one to open the puzzle box? Was it because I was the first person to touch it since Vail had died, and it had bonded to me somehow? Was I just some kind of freak?

No matter what, these questions were beyond my ability to answer right now. I needed mystical experts. And the last thing I needed was to tell other people at Wolfram and Hart about it. I’d either be a laughing stock or pitied by all and sundry. No thank you. Wes and Sam were gone untilthe day after tomorrow, and I was not wiling to wait that long for answers. No way.

Which was why I was marching through an area of town referred to in Wesley’s notes (an impressively comprehensive set of instructions and information he’d given to me so I could better handle mystical crises in his absence) as the twilight quarter in the middle of the night, trying to find the abode of ‘the most competent trustworthy mystic in the state’.

I needed someone to look at the cube. I needed them to tell me what it was, and figure out why it was only affecting me. Why it was showing me _strange_ hallucinations, varying from embarrassing fantasies to peculiar incidents. And why Wesley and Sam seemed to feature almost exclusively.

I stopped walking, glancing to my right, and back to the notebook. I sighed: of course more stairs. A dark, creepy staircase with a door at the bottom of it. The only decoration were a handful of smoking candles on the floor around the door, a few runes painted on the door in what I really, _really_ hoped wasn’t blood, and a dangling charm that was definitely made of bone, if my own experience with talismans was worth anything.

I set my jaw, marched down the stairs and rapped twice on the door. Barely ten seconds later, a hatch on the front slid outside, revealing a deeply suspicious looking pair of eyes. I couldn’t see much of the rest of the room, but it looked stuffy, and surprisingly normal for a mystic’s place of business.

“Closed.” The voice was firm. “Come back tomorrow.”

“You’re not closed to me.” I stared back unflinchingly.

“I’m closed to everyone.” The voice held no malice, or irritation. Calm inflection. A simple statement.

“I’m collecting a debt.” I swallowed. “On behalf of a friend.”

A low hiss from the other side of the door. “Name your friend, and do not try my patience with games.”

“Wesley-Wyndam Pryce sends his regards.” I fought down my worry, fervently wishing I’d managed to get away from work earlier (a crisis had come up involving killer squids that I’d had to resolve personally).

“Word of payment?” 

Ah. The specific word. Given only to Wesley when this mystic had entered into his debt. Once I spoke it, Wesley’s debt would be considered tendered in exchange for whatever services I was provided.

I really hoped he didn’t mind. He’d said this was for emergencies but… well… I considered this a deeply personal emergency, and very important for my sanity.

“Rainwater.” I answered. The hatch slammed shut. A second later, I heard the grinding noise of many locks being undone. The door swung open (inwards, thankfully) to reveal a figure in flowing black robes, just shorter than me, with a hood thrown back. The demon looked vaguely feminine. No hair, green scales, and luminous purple eyes that regarded me intently.

She didn’t move from the doorway. I shifted uncomfortably. “Can I come-”

One surprisingly delicate hand darted out from beneath the robes and gently seized my wrist, turning it upwards. I bit down on my yelp of surprise and let the mystic examine my palm. She scrutinised it for barely a second, then snorted. “You are _not_ his friend.” She said matter-of-factly, then turned and strode into the room. “I am Mali. You will follow.”

I frowned and set off after her. I wasn’t surprised when the door slammed shut of its own accord behind me. What did she mean, I wasn’t Wesley’s friend? “I’m Fred, what do you mean we’re not-”

“You will never be friends.” Mali chuckled, passing through a curtain of beads. I followed: ah. Here were all the trappings of sorcery. Shrunken heads (eek), creepy dolls (yikes), a horrifyingly large and disgusting collection of dried insects pinned to the wall (one of them _moved_, ew ew ew), and a small circular table in the middle of the room, with two chairs around it. The room was, of course, lit entirely by dim candlelight. The place smelled like spices, incense, and… and blood.

Mali had already sat down. She gestured calmly to the seat opposite her and kept talking. Her voice was rich and deep, kind of how I imagined an oak tree would sound if it could talk. “Enemies. Unknown to each other. Bosom companions. Lovers. The centre of one another’s worlds. All these, you could be. Not acquaintances. Not allies. Not _friends._” She chuckled.

I squirmed uncomfortably in the chair.

“Take off your hood, little girl.” Mali closed her eyes, both hands resting flat on the table. “Or did you think having it pulled up would hide that brown hair? How nervous you are? Was that what you thought, _Winifred Burkle?_"

I stiffened. “How do you know-”

“I am Mali.” Her eyes opened. They were a soft orange now, not dissimilar to the candle flames. “I see clearly. Take off your hood.” I swallowed and pulled it down.

“Why have you come here, girl from nowhere?” Mali’s head tilted to one side.

“I’m not from nowhere.” I insisted, trying and failing to find a comfortable way to sit on this chair, and a non-awkward place to put my hands.

“A girl from a tiny little town, in the heartland of a state more people fly above in a year than live in, who moved to a city where nobody knew her name, then fell into a dimension where she was but a slave with no name, and hid in a cave for five years to survive?” One eye was tinged icy blue. “That sounds like nowhere to me.”

“It sounds to me like a great many places all at once.” I shot back. Wesley trusted her. Wesley trusted Mali. She owed him a debt, after something he’d done for her. He would never have given me her name if thought there was any chance she’d hurt me. 

Even if she was creepy.

Mali observed me for a few seconds, then smiled thinly. “You would make a good mystic, if you did not spend all your time in pursuit of answers that do not exist to questions men are not meant to ask.”

“I’m not a man.”

That earned me a laugh. “I see why he loves you.” Mali smiled. “You have fire.”

That felt like a dagger in my side. An ice-cold one. “I have questions.”

“Of course you do. But do you want to know the answers?” One hand vanished into her robes and withdrew with a battered-looking, blackened deck of cards that she placed reverentially on the table between us.

“What are those?” I asked quietly.

“The most powerful item one can use to look into the future. They give so much knowledge, so many answers…” Mali leaned forwards, and her voice was a whisper. “But they _take_. Always they take, one way or another.”

“I don’t want my future read.” I swallowed. “But thanks.”

“You’re right… you don’t.” She leaned back. “Yet. But you will. I can feel it.”

“I’ve actually already got a future guy, he’s really great, but thanks. Really.” I put one gloved hand into my handbag and withdrew the cube, wrapped in several layers of cloth. “I came here to ask you about this.” I carefully unwrapped it, the soft yellow light it emitted mingling seamlessly with the candlelight.

Mali’s eyes widened for a second and she tilted her head to one side. “I offer you the keys to the future,” She murmured. “And you immediately show me a window to the past. How appropriate.”

“What do you mean, ‘window to the past’?” I asked, mentally cursing myself for deciding not to bring notepaper and pen at the last minute. Even if I would have looked ridiculous. “What is it? What does it do?”

“It is an Orlon Window.” Mali crooked one finger and the cube slowly lifted of the table, moving towards her until it hovered directly above the middle of the table. “Dark magic indeed, wielded only by the darkest of warlocks.”

I swallowed, feeling my stomach plummet off a cliff. So it was dark magic then. “What’s so evil about it?”

“Nothing. But only the evil have need of it.” Mali looked at me warily. “Where did you get this?”

“What’s it to you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I’d like to know if there’s going to be a warlock blasting my door off its hinges looking for you a few days from now.” Mali’s tongue darted out to taste the air - I caught a glimpse of what looked like a fork in the flash of blue - and withdrew. “Or hours.”

“I discovered it in a dead warlock’s collection, if you must know.” Enough to satisfy her, hopefully. “You were saying?”

“It is a device that can be made use of only by exceptionally powerful mystics, warlocks, and sorcerers.” Mali made eye contact. “It is used to gaze into the past. More specifically, as the past once _was._”

That kind of made sense. I mean, what I was seeing… they happened in the past. The context around them, that was. But those things hadn’t happened, I’d never kissed Wesley, I’d never promised to stay with Sam, so it didn’t really make sense, not at all, not-

Once was?

“What do you mean, as the past _once was_?” I frowned, leaning forwards. “The world is as it is. What happened, _happened_. You can’t change it.”

Mali chuckled. “Ah, so young. So naive. The world is as it is, but not necessarily as it _was._ The most powerful sorcerers can reach into the past, and alter the fabric of reality itself. Memories, objects, lives… the whole world subtly rearranged to suit their desires.”

Like the Partners! They’d altered the world, implanted false memories and documents of Sam, to validate the cover story they’d created for everyone. Including her. “That’s not the same.” I frowned. “Changing someone’s memories, moving things around… that doesn’t change what really _happened_. It doesn’t change the truth of things.”

Mali laughed. “Perhaps. Perhaps all the past is lies. Who is to say I have not created your mind from nothing and given you fake memories mere moments ago, to sate some strange whim? Can you know, for certain, that all you remember is true?”

I hesitated.

“Precisely.” The Orlon window descended gently onto the table. “When the world changes, _everything_ changes. Sometimes there are small oversights, little pieces of the puzzle. But they are difficult to find unless you know what to search for.” I’d managed.

“When Warlocks need to be certain of the past… the Orlon window allows them to be. They gaze into its depths… and see what - in your words - truly occurred. The past as it originally was, prior to any alterations, any deceptions.” Wait, so… so…

Wesley and I _had_ kissed? But the world had been changed, so we hadn’t? That couldn’t be right. I could never forget the conversation from psych component storage. The one I’d seen in the window. The things we’d said… I could _never_ forget those, no matter what.

Could I?

Mali shrugged. “But the Orlon Window is useless to you.”

“Oh.” A small, internal part of me deflated. It was useless. Of course it was. Just showing me random garbage, things I wanted to see because I was _weak_ and lonely. None of it was true, none of it was-

“You could hold this up all day, and stare as long as you wanted…” Mali casually picked up the window and held it in one hand. “… and never see a thing. My condolences.”

I looked between her and the Orlon window. “But… but what if I have? Seen things, that is.”

“You cannot have. Only a warlock can use the window.” Mali frowned. “Even _I_ cannot use it. I have knowledge of the higher arts, but not _this_ knowledge. It would take you… decades to learn enough to even catch a glimpse through the window. The merest second or two from the past.”

“That explains why nobody else can see things…” I murmured, mind racing. Charles, Lorne, all of them, it explains why they didn’t see anything. But it didn’t explain why _I_ _did_. “But _I_ see things. Every time I touch it, I see things. It’s so real, it’s… it’s like I’m there. I mean… it feels like I was there, like I’m seeing through my own eyes - from back then! - and thinking my past self’s thoughts.”

I looked at Mali. She was regarding me silently, like I would look at a particularly interesting specimen. “That’s why I came here. To find out _why_. What it all means. What I’m seeing… did it really happen? If it did, why don’t I remember it?”

“I don’t think you’re lying.” Mali leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “And you are not insane. At least… not any more.”

“I’m telling the truth.” I looked at Mali, trying to make my earnestly. “Look, this… this is important. Can you help me, or not?” 

Mali pursed her mouth, then nodded slowly. “Yes.” She waved one hand and the Orlon window slid to the side of the table, out of the way. That deck of cards was back in her hands and she shuffled it so fast there _had_ to be magic involved. A moment later, the cards were fanned out in her hands before me. “Take a card.” She instructed quietly.

I eyed them nervously. “What will the card show us?”

“Your future. Riches. Love. Ruin. Death.” Mali nodded to the cards. “They might lend us answers to the question of the window. If you ever take one.”

I swallowed, looking at the fanned out cards. I grabbed one at random, keeping it held facedown. “Am I supposed to-”

“This is not some cheap mortal card trick.” Mali chucked. “Look at it. Then show me.”

I gingerly turned the card so that I, and only I, could see it. I blinked.

I lifted the card up to my face and scrutinised it for a few torturously long seconds. “Is this a joke?” I asked quietly.

“No.” Mali’s expression was almost… hungry. Her eyes were somewhere between orange and red. “Show me.”

I put the card down on the table, face-up. It was blank. “Eh?” Mali’s brow furrowed and she bent down, putting her eye only a few inches above the card. She glared at it like a personal affront. Then she glared at me. “What did you do?” She demanded.

“I took a card, like you said.” I crossed my arms. “What does the blank card mean?”

Mali swiped the card off the table, shuffled the deck, and offered me it again. “Another.”

I took the first card I saw: blank again. I put it down on the table face-up and raised an eyebrow at Mali.

“Again.” Another blank. “_Again.”_ Mali’s expression was feverish, eyes bright yellow. I took four cards for good measure and flipped them upright: all blank.

“Very funny.” I looked her in the eye. “That’s a good one. How many of those are blank?”

Mali snatched up the cards, turned over the deck and spread it across the table, revealing a fantastic array of cards, all covered in pictures, symbols, and words. “None of them.” She stared at me. “Not one.” I ran my eyes over the cards and felt my stomach twist uncomfortably: not a single blank card.

“Does…” I swallowed. “Does a blank card mean… does it mean death?”

“No. Death I would understand.” Mali’s hands flew over the table, sliding three cards towards me. “_These_ mean death. In different ways, at different times. A [_blank_](http://www.apple.com/uk) card… such a thing is not meant to happen.”

What was going on? I could use the Orlon window that nobody except warlocks were meant to be able to use to look into past events that had _maybe_ happened before reality had _possibly_ shifted for some unknown reason, and my future was apparently unreadable.

“What does it mean?” I grabbed three cards at random, shuffled them, and flipped one face-up: blank. The second was blank too. I pushed the third back to Mali, who turned it over: not blank.

“It means that something has taken an interest in you.” Mali spoke slowly, softly, making deliberate eye contact. “Something more powerful than I. A _shroud_ has been thrown over your future, so that whatever awaits you… it cannot be seen by any magic of this world. Perhaps not of any world. I had not thought such a thing possible, had heard only tall tales… until now.”

“And you can’t see past it?” I swallowed. Why would somebody hide my future? Unless… unless they had something bad planned for me. Something they hadn’t wanted Lorne to see, and warn me about. A chill ran through me entirely at odds with the stuffiness of the room.

“No. I cannot.” Mali frowned at me. “I am sorry, not-friend of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I have failed you.”

I swallowed and put on a brave face. “It’s fine. I know more now than I did before. That’s helpful.”

Mali grimaced, one hand clenching into a fist. “There… there is another I could send you to. One who would have the answers you seek.”

I felt a surge of hope. “That sounds good.” Wait, why hadn’t she said this before? “What’s the catch?”

“This being… it is dangerous. Unpredictable.” She rubbed her chin. “It delights in causing chaos and ruin, playing games with the fate of this world and its inhabitants. It cannot tell lies, but it manipulates those who come seeking its counsel, feeds them half truths and stories with significant omissions… it has led many a hero down a dark path. Convinced many a kind soul to turn on their friends. Ruined many lives.”

Mali looked at me. “Are you sure you wish me to send you to it? The last person I gave this advice to… it did not end well for them.”

I squared my shoulders. I was Winifred Burkle. I went to Pylea for five years, and _lived._ I’d stopped Jasmine. Saved the world multiple times. I could handle this oracle. “I can handle anything this prophet throws at me. It could _never_ convince me to betray my friends.”

“Do not be so certain. The last person I sent to meet the Loa was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” Mali paused. “The Loa was what finally convinced him to betray all of you.”

A storm of emotions hit me at once. Wesley. Of course I’d known he’d been manipulated into doing what he did but… but by an evil oracle? This Loa had been the deciding factor in what he’d done? If it could fool Wesley, _my_ Wesley who could sniff out any deception, who was a master of interrogation and mind games…

What could it convince me to do? For the thousandth time, I wish I’d treated Wesley better after what happened, that I’d made it more clear that I _understood_, that… that so many things. 

“You seem nervous.” Mali grinned. “That is wise.”

I was nervous. But I needed answers. Desperately. I said a silent prayer for this not to go horribly wrong, and promised myself that I would never hurt my friends. I hoped I wasn’t repeating Wesley’s mistake.

“How do I find the Loa?” 

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I fidgeted with the bag’s drawstring. I was dithering. Wasting time. Standing around, with a bag of magic dust, putting off having a conversation with a giant hamburger. A giant, malevolent, hamburger, who could not _lie_ but would attempt to _deceive_. 

Oh, to hell with it. If I went crazy, I went crazy. I’d come back once, I could do it again. And if my memories had been changed, the world moved around me, if it was a _lie_… I had to know. I couldn’t let this lie. I opened the bag, withdrew a handful of dust, and readied myself. I heard the sound of someone in a nearby street and winced: god, I really hope nobody saw this.

“if this doesn’t work,” I mumbled under my breath, as a promise to myself. “I’m going to kill Mali.”

I gently scattered my handful of dust over the statue, raised both arms above my head, then slowly, carefully recited the incantation Mali had given me. “Mange sec Loa, alegba, accept this offering… and open the gates of truth.” I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to happen.

The statue surged upwards, its size almost doubling within seconds. Its eyes glowed with malevolent red light, those once cartoonish and now terrifying arms stretching outwards, toothy smile impossibly wide. “Who _dares_ call upon the Loa?” Its voice was a deep timbre of a growl, that felt somehow utterly ancient but not at all decrepit. It towered over me, an amalgamation of every nightmarish animated children’s TV character and the girl from the exorcist. I swallowed, its eyes regarding me with intelligent, wicked interest.

“I… I am Winifred Burkle.” I stood up straight, and stared into the eyes of the Loa. 

“You were. Once.” The Loa chuckled, raising both arms in something resembling a shrug. Its eyes seemed to _gleam_ in the half-light. “If I paint over a canvas ten-thousand times with slightly different paint, each time making a minor edit, does the _painting_ remain the same? Or is it forever warped? _Altered_, by the ravages of fate?”

“Does the question truly matter, if the new paint can be stripped away?” I challenged, placing one gloved hand in my inside pocket, and producing the Orlon window. I held it up, and gazed evenly into the eyes of the Loa. 

“Ah, you bring me a window. Such a pretty little thing, so useful, but so heartbreaking. It pains you, does it not?” 

“What pains me?” I asked, but I felt my stomach twist. I knew what it meant. It had been all I could think about on the way here.

“You see the past. That which was, before it was altered. You see things you desire with quiet, impossible desperation. But all you can do is see them. This is after all, merely a window. Not a door. You can look at what is on the other side, but not reach it.” The Loa chuckled. “To pass through a window, you must _break_ it, and that would not be advisable at this moment. Not in the slightest.”

“So my memories were altered?” I posed the Loa a direct question. “The things I see when I touch the Orlon window… they really happened?”

“They did.” The Loa chuckled. “And more besides.”

The Loa _could not lie_. It couldn’t. And the answer had been ambiguous, so… so Mali hadn’t been lying. Wesley and I, we’d really… on Halloween, I’d said that I… and he said that he… he loved…

I shut down that train of thought firmly. I couldn’t become distracted, no matter how much I wanted to be. My future was shrouded, my life was in danger, and I stood before a cunning malevolent prophet.

“Why can only I see them?” I demanded. “Why don’t Lorne, or Charles, or anyone else see things when they touch it?” I thought I knew: Perhaps only my memories had been altered. Well… mine and Wesley’s. Which would explain why nobody else was affected. They had nothing to see through it.

“It would take a warlock decades of study to gaze through an Orlon window.” The Loa pointed at me with one cartoonish hand. “You are an anomaly. Out of sync with the natural order of this world. Your mind was not merely altered. It was at the direct epicentre of a reality shift, targeted upon yourself. The window _calls_ to you, little girl. It was eager to show you what you do not remember. It still is. You can hear the call, can’t you? Feel the urge to remove that glove.”

I did. I felt it. The Orlon window… I’d never been able to part myself from it, no matter how hard I tried. I’d always ended up touching it somehow, through bad luck but… but maybe it wasn’t bad luck. Maybe I’d been subconsciously trying to touch it. I wanted to touch it now. I knew there was more. I could sense that, somehow. That it might give me answers.

“I do.” I responded quietly, for lack of anything else to say.

“You have dallied long enough I think.” I swallowed and lifted my free hand towards the box- “But you can dally a little longer. I will not be kept waiting, mortal: touch that box here, and your audience is over.”

I had more questions. The window would have to wait. Fighting every instinct, every fibre of my being, which were now _screaming_ at me to touch it, I returned the window to my pocket.

“Who shrouded my future?” I re-focused on the Loa. This was the crucial element. Whoever had hidden my future from Lorne, from anyone trying to see what might await me… they had to have something bad planned for me. If I knew who had done that, this would all become simple.

“The same being who manipulated your memories.” The Loa chuckled. “A veritable fate-spinner. Changing your past, influencing your present, deciding your future… you are tangled in a web that exceeds your comprehension, crafted by a being you are no match for.”

“Fate-spinner.” I frowned. Was that just the Loa’s word for whatever this thing was, or was it some kind of demon, or legend? I’d need to look that up later. I looked up at the Loa. “The fate-spinner. Who is she?”

“_She?_” The Loa spread its arms. Why had I said she? I had no proof, no real idea who… who…

There’d only been one person who’d been in both the original memories. One person who stood to benefit from my memory being altered, so that I’d forget I kissed Wesley. And that same someone also stood to benefit from me leaving Wesley’s office that night, because by the time I’d got back, they’d been…

It was impossible. I… I mean… she was _Sam._ She was harmless. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less alter my memories, manipulate me, conceal my future, and plan my demise. It would be like accusing Luna Lovegood of quintuple homicide. It didn’t make any sense, and yet… all the evidence was there. But it couldn’t be. I was sure of that, she could never-

_Why_ was I so sure of that? I dealt in evidence, in facts, I always trusted them, even over my gut, so why - now, when everything was at stake - did I suddenly feel such a strong urge to throw evidence-based reasoning to the wind? 

Maybe because someone had planted something in my mind encouraging me never to question Sam, to always believe she was innocent, no matter what. A chill swept over me. But surely Sam would never-

I pressed both hands to my temple and groaned, a headache starting to pound at me. God, this double-think was confusing. And highly suspicious.

“How do I stop _them_?” I asked the Loa. It was regarding me with an air of detached amusement.

“I will not tell you what has already been made clear.” The Loa said dismissively. “You have answers, feeble mortal. I have shown you to water, but I will not pour it down your throat… Mortals are so weak and lazy. You are like your… _not-friend_. He came here seeking answers he already possessed, when all he needed was the _question_.”

Hot anger flared up in me at the mention of Wesley, and _rage_ at what the Loa had done to him, what it had cost him, the path it had sent him down, burned behind my retinas. “You hurt him.” I snarled.

“I told him the truth, as I am bound to.” The Loa seemed to loom larger for a moment. “Is it my fault that he misinterpreted my answers?”

“You lied with the truth. You led him astray.” I shook my head, quivering. “Like a demon would do, or a vampire.”

“Perhaps I led him where he needed to be.” The Loa intoned, infuriatingly calm.

“Perhaps you’re full of shit.” I shot back.

There was a rumble of thunder from somewhere, and yellow sparks ran all over the Loa where it stood. My hair stood on end in response to the electricity in the air. “Who are _you_ to pass judgement on me, tiny creature?” The Loa demanded. “I see all! I know…” The Loa trailed off suddenly, eyes narrowing.

“Know _what_?” I questioned, feeling a tiny smile begin to tug at the corners of my mouth. Could it be…

“More than you can imagine.” The Loa said loftily. It was trying to cover up a slip. It had slipped.

“But not ‘all’.” I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You were gonna say, all, weren’t you? So much for omniscient spirit, what is it you don’t-”

Yellow sparks flew off the Loa, colliding with me in a stream. I collapsed to the ground with a groan, skin burning, shaking in response to the electrical charge. Ow.

“Your impudence is… _displeasing._”

“You don’t know who the fate-spinner is,” I struggled to my feet. “Do you? They’ve hidden themselves from you.”

“You presume much.”

“But I’m not wrong.” I smiled. “I’ve got that knowing feeling.”

“Then know _this._” The Loa raised one hand. “You are living on borrowed time, and facing an adversary many times more powerful than yourself.”

“Then why am I alive, if I am so desperately outmatched?” I raised an eyebrow. I could beat this thing. I’d beaten things like it before. With my friends at my side, I could handle _anything._

“Because your opponent is playing a game, for immense stakes. You may be but a piece on the game-board, but there are still rules regarding how you can and cannot be removed from play. Especially when the sponsors of your enemy have their own designs to fulfil. Killing you is not sufficient. The manner of your death must suit.”

“I’m no pawn.” A piece on a board, I was not. Jasmine had tried that shtick on us, and it hadn’t stuck. She’d been just as fallible as everyone else, just as vulnerable.

“No, you are not.” The Loa chuckled. “You should wish that you were. One or two pawns tend to survive the majority of chess games. Queens are rarely so lucky, no matter whose side they are on.”

I blanched. “Queen? That’s not… no. Cordy was-”

“_You_ are at the centre of things now. The wheel turns on _you_. And if you are not careful, it will crush you.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“That our conversation is concluded. Run along mortal. Time is on her side.”

“How much time?” I yelled, as the Loa began to collapse on itself, to shrink back into a lifeless statue. “How long do I have?”

“When you know the face of your enemy, look up and ponder this - how many green bottles standing on two walls?” One final little flash of light, and the Loa was gone.

I was standing outside a fast food restaurant in the middle of the night, glaring at a hamburger statue. I still had more questions than answers. But now I knew for sure how to get them. I patted the weight in my pocket to reassure myself: the window was still there.

I couldn’t grab it out here. Going into a trance in the middle of the night, on a street in LA was a great way to get attacked. No. I’d get back to my office, and then I’d learn the truth.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I sat down at my desk, pushed my hair behind my shoulders, and drew a deep breath. It was time to get answers. No more delays. I put the Orlon window down on the table, removed my glove, and placed my hand over it.

_You got me_.

I jerked my hand away from the window on reflex, using it to cover my mouth. Sam had confessed. Right here, in my office, she’d revealed her true loyalties. Rubbed it in my face, laughed at my powerlessness, rewritten my memories and-

Twelve days. She said I had twelve days before the ‘accidental’ death the Partners had arranged for me, and that had been-

It was today. Oh God, it was today. But when today? What time was… ten green bottles. The Loa had said, how many green bottles standing on two walls? Well, that was twenty. Well, if it was today, that could only be twenty hours from when I’d picked up the cube. I felt dread pool within me: how long had I been in there? I looked up at the nearest clock. It was eight am. I’d been in the memory for the rest of the night. That was bad. So counting twenty hours from when I’d touched the cube - since if I counted twenty hours from now, that would be tomorrow, which would be past the day allocated - that gave me… 

Twelve hours. Twelve hours to live. A tiny giggle escaped from me. Couldn’t do much in twelve hours. Not much at all, I couldn’t even…

I could stop this. I had twelve hours. That was enough. Sam and Wes were gone, on their mission. Sam had probably arranged to be away at the time of my death, isolated from everything in the world but Wesley, so that no suspicion whatsoever could fall on her. The window wouldn’t prove her guilt to anyone else, but Charles, Angel, Lorne… They’d believe me. I was deadly serious. They’d trust me. Then we could figure out Sam’s game together, find a weakness, and when she got back, we’d be _ready._

I hid the Orlon window in a drawer, leapt up and started running towards Angel’s office, mentally rehearsing everything important from the newest memory. Sam had magic. At the least, telekinesis and memory alteration. Telekineses to toss me around like a rag doll, and trap me in my office. Memory alteration, obviously, _but_ it seemed to require touch to work. Every time she’d done it that I could remember, she’d touched me right as she did it. At the end of the last memory, right before I left Wesley’s office, on Halloween…

Don’t think about Halloween. Think about Sam. She was still linked to the Senior Partners, so even if they wouldn’t get their hands dirty, they could help her if it came to it. Information, backup… who knows what they’d be willing to send. And anything she saw or knew, they would see and know. Physically, she was probably nigh invulnerable. She was intelligent, a master actor and manipulator, and… And in her own way, she loved Wesley. Which meant that if we threatened that, she could stop acting rationally. 

But she had weaknesses too, at least one weakness. She couldn’t just rewrite reality around us all the time, she’d said as much to me! She’d said that… that Wolfram and Hart were consistent. That they stood by their business arrangements. So somewhere along the line, some bargain had been struck, some deal made, that gave us some leverage against her. I was going to find that leverage and use it to-

“Hi Fred!” Harmony waved cheerfully at me as I waved past. “I was just about to call you! Did you hear that-”

I ignored Harmony, bursting through the doors into Angel’s office. “Angel! It’s-” I killed the words in my throat. Angel wasn’t alone in his office. Lorne and Gunn were standing by the desk, Lorne pouring champagne into a row of glasses, while Gunn was paying rapt attention to…

To Wesley and Sam. Who were sitting in the chairs in front of Angel’s desk, looking pleased as punch, casually holding hands. They were dressed in what looked like cultist robes, and they were _back early_. 

A half-second after I got into the room, everyone turned to face me. Including Sam. Curious, warm, attentive, _deceptive_ green eyes alighted on me, a welcoming smile beginning to form on that face. This was how she’d caught me last time. I couldn’t repeat my mistakes, I had to think of something. Why were they back, how would they-

Harmony. Smiles around the office. Champagne.

“I came up as soon as I heard!” I plastered a broad smile on my face and raced over to the grouping. “Well done, guys!” I held up both my hands to them, palms flat. Sam grinned and high fived me, the tiniest flush creeping into her cheeks. Wesley hesitated, then followed suit. He looked away almost immediately after.

Ok. Still awkward between us then. I mean, I guess that was to be expected and it was _completely not important right now, Fred, get your head in the game or she’s gonna kill you!!_

“Well done you guys!” I gushed, then turned to Lorne. “You got a flute for me?”

“Always, Fredikins.” Lorne passed me a champagne flute with a smile.

I dipped my head in thanks, and turned to the others. “So, what did I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter brings you some enjoyment in the time of lockdowns - stay safe everyone!!


	16. Liar Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With only hours to go before her scheduled demise, Fred races to uncover Sam's weakness without tipping her off.

**Wesley**

“So, what did I miss?” Fred looked between me and Sam, then glanced at Lorne and raised an eyebrow. “Except for the party, which you apparently started _without_ me.”

Lorne coughed. “Nobody actually started drinking yet.”

“And we were just about to call you.” I added, then frowned. “But you’re here anyway.”

“Of course I am.” Fred rolled her eyes. “I swear, the staff in my lab are the worst gossips. They could be talking about cool things like experiments, or undiscovered elements, or newly discovered elements, or math, and what do they talk about? Who’s with who, who just got back from secret undercover missions.” Fred frowned slightly. “Which I guess is also, y’know, exciting.”

“Oh, it was definitely exciting. Trust me.” I stretched, trying to ignore my myriad aches and pains.

“For sure.” Sam agreed, curling up more comfortably in the chair, and resting her head on the armrest. I smiled fondly, resisting the urge to twine my fingers in her hair or kiss the top of her head.

I would _never_ do anything like that in front of Fred. Ever.

“The plan was going well… and then it went sideways. So we rushed through things a bit faster.” Sam gestured at the room and smiled. “Hence, back early! And also, thoroughly exhausted.”

“You can say that again.” I murmured.

Sam’s smile was dellightfully impish. “Thoroughly exhaus-”

Gunn interrupted her. “So, what went down? I know you guys took care of Pious, but a man needs details…”

“We infiltrated the group easily enough. Disguises worked a treat. Survived the proving ritual of Nun-Sharak.” Sam shuddered. I was in complete agreement with her about that particular incident. “Began making allies within the cult. A combination of threats and bribes earned us a reasonable cabal of high-ranking members and low-ranking enforcers.”

“Then one of the cultists went behind our back and told Pious.” Sam grimaced. “Everything kind of went Night of the Long Knives after that. Full-blown civil war in the underground secret lair.”

“Sam and I fought our way to the inner sanctum-”

“I didn’t really _fight_.” Sam protested. “I just threw up a shield behind us and tried to keep up. Wes did all of the hardcore offensive magic.”

“- and blasted down the doors.” I paused for a moment. “Inside were Pious and his two trusted lieutenants. A long, intense, and pyrotechnic duel ensued, in the course of which I killed Pious and his cronies, and Sam saved my life four times.”

“Five.” Sam piped up, smiling. “Remember the killer duck?”

“That's fair.” I grimaced, one hand rubbing my lower leg unconsciously, a phantom pain itching at me.

“Wait. Killer duck?” Fred was trying and failing to contain a grin. “You almost got killed by a duck?”

“A _killer_ duck.” I protested. “It had enormous teeth, razor edged wings, bulletproof feathers, and mastery over the four elements.”

“Seriously?” Fred smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Its wings weren’t razor edged.” I admitted.

“I figured that-” Fred faltered, and frowned. “Wait. Command over the elements? There was a _duck_ with-”

“You really had to be there.” Sam paused for a moment. “Anyway, Wes took down the warlocks, we handed over the place to the eager up-and-comers, then skedaddled.”

“And you’re back a whole day early.” Fred beamed. “Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to get back to work.”

“I suppose so.” I frowned: I shuddered to think the amount of work that had built up in my absence. I’d have to work late for days trying to-

“That’s enough pessimism, Fredikins.” Lorne pressed glasses into mine and Sam’s hands, then did the same for Gunn and Angel. “For now, in this hour-”

“I have to be back in the lab in at most twenty minutes.”

“I have a court case I need to leave for in fifteen minutes.”  


“For now, in these _fifteen minutes_.” Lorne looked around, daring anyone to pipe up. Nobody did. “We will celebrate, and take the win. One more big, bad warlock down, and not a scratch on our team.”

I privately decided never to reveal the bites I’d received at the bill of the killer duck. “Cheers.” I raised my glass.

“Cheers!” Everyone echoed, and we drank. I nodded approvingly: damn fine champagne. 

“So, what did we miss?” Sam propped her chin on one hand and looked at the others. “Anything neat?”

“I got a new coffee machine.” Lorne grinned. “It’s divine. Well, more accurately it’s partially infernal, but the coffee it makes is… bow chick a wow-wow.”

“Does the machine make tea?” Sam queried.

“No.” Lorne frowned.

“Not interested.” Sam shrugged and smiled playfully. Everyone laughed. “C’mon, other stuff must have happened.”

“I also went to the theatre with Fred.” Lorne put in. “Box seats. Lovely performance.”

“Very cultured.” I nodded approvingly. “Or, at least, more cultured than sleeping on stone beds and chanting for eight hours a day.”

“Only eight hours?” Gunn chuckled. “I should become an evil cultist.”  
“Throats get parched very quickly.” Sam took an extra large sip of champagne for emphasis. “And you spend another few hours every day reading eldritch tomes until the runes swim in front of your eyes.”

“There’s lots of gossiping though.” I smiled, elbowing Sam. “Especially over in the girls’ dormitories. Or so I heard.”

“Oh, obviously.” Sam turned to me, her voice and expression deadly serious. “Did anyone tell you about all the naked pillow fights too?”

I felt myself flush bright red and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. Lorne, Angel, and Gunn were happy to laugh. Fred hid her giggles behind a smile, but didn’t refuseSam’s proffered high-five.

“Continuing the subject of what happened this week…” Fred pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I invited Angel and Spike around for a movie night. Halfway through, one of them threw the other through my window-”

“Not the one that makes up an entire wall?” I raised an eyebrow. Fred nodded gravely. I winced: that was an expensive vampiric tantrum. Not to mention bloody irritating.

“So I had to pack and spend the night in a hotel.” Fred sighed. “Total pain in the ass, but when aren’t those two?”  
“I make you right.” I looked at Angel meaningfully.

“It was me.” Angel announced, looking around. “I threw Spike through the window. I _won_.”

Fred swivelled round to face Angel so fast her head nearly fell off, expression shifting to one of total incredulity. I made silent abort gestures at Angel from behind her back. Lorne and Gunn started moving towards the door. I quietly took Sam’s hand and snuck out after them, before Fred could really get going.

Angel was definitely in for it.

“So much for the party.” Sam frowned, looking unhappily at her empty glass. I passed her mine and she brightened, kissing my cheek. My cheek tingled where she’d touched it and I rubbed the spot, unable to keep a smile off my face.

She still always managed to take my breath away. Sam tugged insistently on my hand, and I followed her back towards our office. “Did something seem off about Fred to you?” I asked, pondering.

“No, not at all.” Sam quirked one eyebrow up at me. “Why?”  
“I don’t know.” I confessed. She’d seemed in great spirits. Very content. Almost like she was hiding how uncomfortable she was. To keep me from being guilty. I felt a soft pang. God, I wished there was a way I could make both of them happy. 

And, she’d seemed unusually quick to be cross at Angel. Granted, he’d been an arse, but he was always an arse where Spike was concerned. And I was sure he’d already apologised. Fred tended to forgive small things quite easily (and when the window could be repaired free of charge within a day, it was a small thing) so that she’d gone off at Angel was odd. Unless she’d been trying to make a scene, and clear the room. To get away from me.

“Hmm.” Sam squeezed my hand reassuringly. “I can look after the fort later, if you want to check up on her? Take a few hours to catch up.”

“Maybe.” I mused, holding the door open for Sam as she ducked through, then closing it behind me. “You should go down first, I think. Check the lay of the land. Do some minesweeping before we send in a battleship.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Sam beamed, then frowned at me. “And don’t think I missed the coded reference to battleship. I _will_ win the next game.”

“Twelve losses in a row beg to differ.” I smiled innocently, delighting in Sam’s pout, and the cute way her eyebrows knit together when she was frustrated. Sam and Fred might be similar in many ways - by design - but I’d never won a game of battleship against Fred. I suppose it was the maths. Fred had always been very good at isolating patterns, and eliminating scenarios.

And she’d possessed a frankly terrifying determination to sink every last ship.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

She hadn’t rewritten my memories. Thank God. I’d been terrified when she’d offered me that high five. Terrified that I might not have hidden my anxiety well enough, that that insanely cunning, manipulative brain of hers had spotted the nervousness I’d tried so hard to bury, and decided to test me. If I didn’t high five, I was clearly guilty. If I did, she rewrote my memories.

But she hadn’t. So I was safe. _And_ it told me that Sam couldn’t read minds. Just alter them. Which was something I could deal with. If only I could figure out her weakness. It was somewhere in files and records, probably the restricted section, I was sure of it. Probably buried inside whatever infernal document we’d signed to take over this awful place. Something that kept her from constantly altering the world around us to suit her story, something that meant she had to _try._

And if there wasn’t a weakness then… well… I was probably screwed. Either I’d die tonight, or I wouldn’t die because I didn’t follow the pre-defined path, and Sam would realise I’d cottoned on to her. Then she’d rewrite my memories, and then I’d die. Then she’d keep everyone stuck here forever, slowly corrupt them, and continue deceiving Wesley for the rest of his days. My stomach twisted with anger and anxiety.

I had an opening to sneak down to files & records. Charles had called me - almost gasping with laughter - to tell me that Angel had entered his office looking for Wesley and Sam - who’d been in there helping with a spell to make that witness obstructive for him - to offer them the use of his apartment and shower if they wanted to clean up and get changed.

Then they’d apparently exchanged a _look_ and Angel had emphatically added that they were to use the place _sequentially_ or not at all. The implication would have been funny, if it wasn’t heartbreaking and nauseating.

But it meant Sam was out of the picture for a little while, and I had a window of opportunity. I had to look as normal and unfazed as possible, and not like someone about to make a run for it. Just in case. I collected my clipboard and pens, double-checked the Orlon window was safe under its pile of random papers in a desk drawer so messy nobody would dare search it, and re-positioned my bug scanner ever so slightly so that it was out of eyesight of anyone entering my office. Perfect. I deliberately left my purse behind, and began the torturously slow, faux leisurely, nerve-wracking walk downstairs.

Five minutes later, I reached files and records, alive and with my memories untouched. As far as I knew. I felt a prickling wave of paranoia and shuddered. Memory alteration was the _worst_. I snuck inside and closed the door behind me, giving the place a once-over: as usual, it was completely empty. Convenient.

Was that _too_ convenient? I fervently wished I could have brought my bug detector, but it would have been too suspicious. Plus Sam knew I had it, and for all I knew she’d cursed it, jinxed it, or put some kind of alert spell on it. If I aroused any suspicion at all, I was doomed. I couldn’t risk it.

I walked as fast as I could, making a beeline for the cabinet I’d found the file on the reality shift that had created Sam and her fake life. The contracts we’d signed to take over had been signed on that day. It could be here. I quickly paged through the drawers, withdrawing contracts for myself, Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, and Angel. Angel’s was significantly thicker, I noted. Insulting, but fine.

Okay, I was the one being targeted, so logically I should check mine first. I began scanning: standard employment contract. Hours of work (much too long), exemption from overtime pay (of course), strict confidentiality (no wonder), and rules surrounding notice periods and redundancy (I only skimmed these, finding nothing to do with death or memory alteration, and moved on). The eye-wateringly high salary which I had no time to spend on anything, and which was building up steadily in my bank account. Maybe I could buy my parents something with it, if I survived. Right now I was just using it to buy better-tasting sweet treats than I used to.

I felt a sudden homesickness, and an overwhelming desire to call my parents, just to hear their voices. Catch up on them. Find out when they’d booked to go to Hawaii. But I couldn’t. It would be the ultimate red flag. Sam would be on me like a velociraptor if I did it. I resolved to call them later, _once_ I’d beaten Sam (I was going to beat her, I was going to do this, I could still do this!). 

The clause exempting me from perpetual servitude - thank God we’d remembered about that before signing, or I would be _so_ screwed right now - and that was the end. My loopy signature at the bottom of the final page, signed with a slight flourish. I’d felt so confident I was doing the right thing. Hindsight was 20/20, I guess. And a massive bitch.

I huffed, tossing my contract on the floor. Nothing. Except proof that my handwriting _had_ always been borderline illegible, and it wasn’t many hours of having to scribble page after page of notes and calculations that had driven me to it. Well. Onto the next one. Wesley was the next logical choice, since he was the one Sam was most closely associated with. I felt another shudder overtake me and focused on the contract: exactly the same as mine. Except for a provision stipulating that it was his duty to provide a human sacrifice to seal the Hellmouth if it ever opened again. Oddly specific and disturbing. But then, what here wasn’t? Again, no mention of memory alteration.

I looked at the last three folders, chewing my lip thoughtfully. Alright. Lorne and Charles weren’t particularly involved with Sam. And from what I’d seen their contracts were likely to be standard employment contracts, the same as mine. Angel’s on the other hand, was much bigger. _And_ he’d signed the crucial contract, the first contract, actually establishing us as the operators of the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart. I picked up the papers, and stole a glance over my shoulder: nobody creeping up on me yet.

As quick as I could, I got to reading. Angel’s contract was _very_ different to mine and Wesley’s. Much more binding. And more highly paid (not that it mattered, I mean, it was just money and he worked really hard and he was the hero, so it made total sense). Clauses explicitly stating necessary profitability thresholds, clearly defined rules for forfeiture of ownership if the business started to do too badly…

And a paragraph concerning opening ceremonies. I frowned, casting my mind back: I hadn’t remembered any opening ceremonies. I’d stumbled into the lobby with a box, found Wesley and chatted with him, before we got ambushed by the monster who’d stolen his heart (it was _officially_ stolen, since we’d kissed and she’d made us forget it!) and was plotting my demise. No big fanfare. So what did it mean? I started reading the section in more detail.

Three sentences in, I figured out I’d hit the motherlode. Angel hadn’t just got the building. He’d gotten a favour from the Senior Partners. A _reality shift_. They’d promised to rewrite reality to give someone named Connor - could that be the Connor Angel had _somehow_ known, who Vail had conscripted? How had they known each other? Who was he that Angel cared enough about him to make a deal with Wolfram and Hart - a happy, normal peaceful life. Erase his memories of us - _I’d_ known Connor? More things I didn’t remember?? Signed off by Angel??? - and our memories of him. 

My blood chilled. I re-read the seemingly innocuous sentence, tucked away in the middle of the paragraph.

The undersigned grants explicit permission for Wolfram and Hart as well and its representatives (incl. C. Vail) to alter the memories of his comrades (Winifred Burkle, Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan, Charles Gunn, and Wesley-Wyndam Pryce). The Undersigned explicitly does not grant permission for their own memories to be altered by any of the above, and retains standard CEO immunity against such alteration.

I read it again. _This_ was it. This was how they’d got Angel. Promised him a reality shift to protect Connor, slipped in a casual line granting his permission for our memories to be altered, ostensibly to help protect Connor, but which completely failed to rule out any future memory alterations. And Angel _must_ have bargained to keep his own memories of Connor intact, he clearly had them, so he’d probably forced them to put in a line explicitly stating his immunity. And obviously they couldn’t put in anything making him immune to one specific reality shift, because that would have made him suspicious, made him demand not only immunity from future reality shifts and associated memory alterations for himself, but also future immunity for us. They’d toed a fine line. And it had almost paid dividends.

Almost.

For the first time in days, a genuine smile crept onto my face. I could _do this_. All I had to do was get to Angel. Go back to my lab, dawdle a little so it wasn’t suspicious, then casually call Angel on the office phone and ask when he was available to be updated on a case. Invite him down to the lab - or go up there myself - and talk to him.

As soon as I was in the room with him, I would tell him _everything. _Swear up and down that I was telling the truth. Angel was my friend. He would trust me. Especially with the Orlon Window backing me up. Then I’d stick to him like glue. No chance of an accidental death, and Sam couldn’t rewrite his memories, or mine while he was there, since I’d warn him about her tricks. We’d bring in the others as subtly as we could, or go straight to the Senior Partners. They needed Angel. I didn’t fully understand why, but it was obvious they did. He could convince them to sell Sam down the river, threaten to resign if they didn’t guarantee our safety, or at least buy us some time, some desperately needed breathing room.

I just had to get to Angel. Hell, I could even tell him on the phone if it came to it. If Sam tried to ambush me or something. Which she wouldn’t. Because there was no indication there was anything up.

I _had_ her this time. I experienced an uncomfortable moment of deja vu: weeks ago I’d sat here, thinking just this, and I’d been dancing to her tune all the while. Not this time. This time I had her. 

Didn’t I?

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I spun idly in the office chair, eventually orienting myself to look out the window. Fred definitely had a better view than me. I frowned: everyone had a better view than me actually. Gunn got the mountains, Angel and Fred got the cityscape, Lorne got an endless stream of attractive young actresses…

I heard the door open behind me. Ah, just the person I came down here to see. I assumed it was Fred. The tread sounded about right, I thought. I spun the chair around to face her, fixing a welcoming smile on my face. “Surpri-”

I was vaguely aware of something square, flat, and brown spinning through the air towards me, before I felt a _blinding_ pain in my nose and grunted, one hand leaping up to cover my face. I stared at the desk in bewilderment. Fred had thrown a clipboard at me. That hurt.

“Oh my gosh, Wesley!” Fred rushed up to the desk, eyes wide, looking aghast. “I… I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to… to…”

“Cracking aim, Fred.” I mustered a jovial smile and sat upright, wincing at another spark of pain. “Excellent shot.”

“I…” Fred groaned and slumped on the edge of the desk. “It’s been a stressful couple of days. Sorry.”

“No problem.” I carefully removed my hand from my increasingly red nose, and pushed my chair back a little. Enough to give Fred some personal space. “Tell me all about it.”

“I… I can’t.” Fred looked distinctly guilty. I raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve got a thing.” She said lamely.

Ah. Deflection. Never a good sign. I was not making this mistake again, not after _weeks_ of not realising she’d been making herself miserable because of me. No sir.

“Really? Because your calendar is empty.” I pointed to her desk calendar. “It says you have no thing. Nothing. Nada. Null. Zero.”

“I… I just…” Fred looked conflicted. She wrung her hands, moving to the side of her desk further from the office door. “It’s… it’s not the right time.”

“I always have time for you.” I said softly, standing up. “Fred… do you trust me?”

  
She made eye contact for the first time. “… yes.”

“Do you believe I genuinely want to help you, and don’t care about any inconvenience?”

“Yes.” She nodded, looking stricken.

“Then tell me.” I smiled. “Tell me anything. What’s on your mind?”

Fred regarded me for a long moment. “Do you promise to keep a secret?”

“Of course.” I nodded.

“Even if it’s hard to believe? Even if you think I’m crazy?”

“I’ve never thought of you as crazy.” I replied, truthfully.

“I guess you haven’t.” Fred smiled. “But… this is the kind of secret that… it changes everything. You don’t have to know now, I’m on top of it, I can figure this out without-”

“Better the bitterest truth, than the sweetest lie.” The quote came easily.

“You use that one a lot.” Fred pointed out, chewing her lip.

“It’s true.” I shrugged.

Fred swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna tell you. Don’t freak out, and please trust me.”

“Of course.” I eyed her with great anticipation as she yanked open the drawer closest to her, buried one hand up one sleeve, and began rummaging around for something. “Fred, do you need a-”

“No, I’m good.” Fred emerged, holding a small, glowing, intricate glass cube with the hand fully covered by the sleeve. No skin contact. Soft yellow light emanated from it, bathing her face. It looked almost like candlelight. I could… I could feel the magic _pulsing_ off it. The mystical energy surging against the inner walls like a storm in a bottle.

“Fred,” I felt suddenly nervous. “What is-”

“You’ve been lied to.” Fred cut me off, making eye contact. “Your memories have been altered, falsified. By Sam. This will prove it. Catch.”

My mind was racing: Sam wouldn’t lie to me, that was absurd. I loved her, she loved me, I trusted her with everything, she would never betray my trust, never, and even if she was capable of it, Sam didn’t have anything like the magical skill or power necessary to-

I realised belatedly that Fred had tossed the cube at me and moved, on reflex, catching it with one hand-

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“We could be confidantes!” Fred exclaimed, smiling happily and shrugging. “Confiding… confidentially!”

Somewhere in my brain, two wires crossed, and a spark leapt between them. I’d had an idea. Sam was so special, so lovely, so wonderful and… and I thought she might want more. More than just friendship. With me. But I was so terrible at this I had no idea if I was imagining it, or how to proceed if it were true.

But Fred was _good_ at this sort of thing. Reading people, spotting signals. Despite her protests upstairs, she fundamentally _got_ people in a way I sometimes didn’t. I might be an excellent lie detector, but Fred was an inner truth detector. And right now I desperately needed her help. She was in a good mood too, which was probably mostly the result of the alcohol: she hopefully wouldn’t mind being asked. If there was ever a time she wasn’t going to mind, it would be now.

“I actually did have something I wanted to ask you.” I said quietly, mentally fortifying myself, looking at Fred pleadingly. I needed her help so badly. And this… this would be the proof she needed. Proof that I’d moved on, that I would stop thinking about her in that way, that we could go back to being close friends again, no awkwardness, no tension. I wanted that. I missed Fred. Dearly. “I wanted to know… how you might feel. About a certain someone.”

Fred’s smile broadened. She looked… amazingly happy. My heart swelled: perhaps this was going to go well. She didn’t seem to mind me calling on her assistance! “What would this certain someone be like?” Fred gave me a knowing, playful look, bumping her nose gently against mine. Of course she’d figured me out. I was an open book to her.

Although the bumping noses was a little odd. Very enjoyable (in ways that it shouldn’t be, dammit, I wasn’t allowed to think about Fred like that any more, I couldn’t, it was wrong, she didn’t want it, why couldn’t I _stop?_). But odd.

I thought for a moment about how to best describe Sam. “They might be clever. And kind. Prone to moments of bravery. Good-looking.” Fred giggled, smiling at me indulgently. Encouragingly. She was _excited_ for me. Of course she would be, she was incessantly kind and caring, especially towards her friends, of course she’d want me to happy.

Fred had just decided it wouldn’t be with her. Which was her choice, made long ago, and mine to accept. I had accepted it. My insides were just having trouble remembering the tune from to time.

I kept going, in the absence of a prompt. “Someone you know, but who you’d probably like to get to know better.” Fred and Sam would make such great friends. Alike, but different. Both so clever, so sweet, so very competitive in their own ways… they’d make excellent friends.

Fred’s straightened slightly, eyes dropping to my mouth, then moving back to make eye contact. Did I have a piece of food-

“You just have to ask what I feel.” Fred smiled even wider. She was willing to help. And… and she was hugging me. Wrapping her arms around me and squeezing. Quite tightly. That was _very odd_, I mean, Fred was drunk and she was very affectionate when she’d had enough to drink - especially with me, curiously - but… but this was new. She might rest her head on my shoulder but she’d never… she’d never hugged me like this, while staring directly into my eyes, unwavering.

God, she had such beautiful eyes. Impossibly beautiful. Warm, soft, caring, glowing, they were-

No,_ stop. _You are not allowed, you are not allowed, it is against the rules, it is _against what she wants, she does not want me, or my attention._ She was trying to help me, and I was being an unacceptable piece of seedy rubbish in response.

I forced a smile to hide my inner thoughts and opened my mouth to speak-

Fred pressed one finger to my lips firmly. But also tenderly. God, how were her hands so soft? Her touch so delicate, so-

_NO!_

“Whisper it in my ear.” Fred pointed to one ear and tilted her head slightly, turning that ear towards me. This was a secret. My feelings were a secret. She was just trying to save me from embarrassment, from somebody else hearing about my feelings for Sam. That was why she wanted me to whisper in her ear.

In this empty room.

With the doors closed.

Several floors away from any other living being.

There couldn’t be any other reason. There were none that made sense. I mentally shook myself, chasing away my ridiculous thoughts, and complied with Fred’s request. Fred shuddered against me as I drew close, eyes closing for just a moment-

And opening again, to fix directly on mine. I faltered before I spoke, staring back at her. She had suddenly tensed against me, body coiled like a spring, but shaking ever so slightly. But she didn’t look afraid. She looked… she was staring at me in a way she never had before, it looked almost like… like…

Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing rapid, her heart was _hammering_ against my chest, I could feel it because of the way she was _embracing _me, and she looked…

I pulled away ever so slightly, keeping my breathing under control. I was wrong. I was stupid. Lorne had clouded my mind somehow, or the alcohol had, or a lack of sleep, I was mistaken, there was no other explanation that fit the facts, because Fred didn’t want me, she’d said as much but she looked like she… like she…

“Fred?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Why… why are you looking at me like that?”

She blinked once. I felt my heart-rate speed up significantly. “Because…” Her voice was quiet, incredibly quiet, and I had to hear what she was saying, so I leaned in closer on reflex to pick up her words, leaving only inches between us. Why was she talking so quietly? Her voice was soft. She spoke slowly and deliberately. Not a hint of slurring. Every enunciation clear, and precise. There was no mistake as to what she was saying. “I really, really want to do _this_.”

Fred tilted her head upwards and shifted forwards ever so slightly, pressing her lips to mine.

My brain shut down. This wasn’t… it was impossible. She couldn’t… Fred didn’t…she’d said that…

Fred had changed her mind. I kissed her back, moving one hand up to cup her cheek as she wrapped her arm around my shoulder. She shifted closer, deepening the kiss, and I saw white. Wonderful, glorious heat surged through me, the taste of Fred - fruit and sugar and coffee and a million other things that would never be put together anywhere except _her_, and which somehow tasted beyond glorious when unified - and Fred let out a soft moan, stumbling back a step. I felt her other arm fling itself out to brace herself against the wall, keeping us upright, and I deepened the kiss, acting on instinct.

I was running out of air. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted _Fred_. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything, had wanted her for years, quietly and desperately, openly and secretly, at turns overjoyed and despondent, excited and resigned, and now we were kissing and…

And it was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined.

I gently broke away, feeling heat flood my face as I gasped for air. Fred inhaled impossibly deep lungfuls of air, eyes fluttering closed. She slumped backwards against the wall slightly, her grip on my shoulders tightening, and the arm that had been bracing herself was looped over the shoulder not occupied by her other arm. For a moment she only breathed.

Then she smiled and I whimpered. She… she looked so _happy._ “Wow.” Fred whispered so quietly I almost thought I’d imagined it, before her eyes slowly opened and made contact with mine.

We’d kissed. It had been incredible. And for her as well, perhaps, judging by her reaction. Which was an unabashedly _positive_ reaction. But why? Just three weeks ago, she’d gently given me her ultimatum, her subtle warning to _back off,_ because I wasn’t what she wanted, and there would never be room for anything between us.

I didn’t understand. Fred’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, smile dimming a few degrees. “Wes?” She said hesitantly, in a voice full of hesitation and infused with nervousness. It was questioning. Probably questioning my facial expression: wondering why I wasn’t smiling like someone who’d won the lottery (and I would take one kiss like that over any lottery win, any day, ever) and instead standing there with a stupid look on my face.

“But… this doesn’t make any sense.” I tried to articulate what I was thinking. This… it went against everything she felt, everything she’d said and done, _why_, why had she… “This… it doesn’t…” Unless-

“It makes all the sense in the world.” Fred murmured, making eye contact, and rubbing her nose against mine. Such a lovely nose. Such a lovely everything. Her lips were so close, so achingly close, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, and see if she responded. “Girl meets boy.” In a wilderness in a hell dimension.

“Girl and boy become friends…” It had taken weeks to form any kind of rapport with Fred. I’d tried so hard to help her at first, before I realised my efforts were doing more harm than good, that what she really needed was space to help herself. I’d realised that when I’d found her in my office that night, under the desk, and I’d seen how afraid she was, that she _knew_ it wasn’t rational, but that the fear was no less real for it. So I’d read to her, then encouraged her to read to me, and… and that had been how it begun. Books, radio shows, puzzles, even the occasional meals… she’d almost never spoken. But it had been a bond, something closer, more raw, more _real_ in a way than what I shared with anyone else.

“Girl wants _more_.” She did? Fred did want more? It hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision, a random act, she actually… “Girl falls… falls in… shows him how she feels.” Fred looked at me pleadingly.

A cold weight landed in my stomach, mounting horror rushing through me. She was _drunk._ Of course she was drunk, Lorne had seen to that, and I was drunk too, that’s why she’d kissed me, she’d taken leave of her senses, and I’d been the only thing around and… it hadn’t _meant_ anything to her.

I had to go _now_, while I could still try desperately to salvage my friendship with her.

“You’re drunk.” I straightened up and began to move away, giving her space. I’d taken advantage. I was a _bastard_ of the highest order, the lowest scum there was. I started trying to extricate myself from her impressively tight grip. “Fred, I’m so-”

“_No_.” Fred’s tone was colder than I’d ever heard it as she glared up at me imperiously, and the words died on my lips. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you stay _right _where you are.”

I stopped trying to move, and readied myself for a verbal onslaught, for her to have returned to her senses, and rightly tell me to launch myself off the nearest cliff, or perhaps over the closest event horizon. I tensed.

“I may be drunk. Mystically…” Why was her voice soft? Why wasn’t she yelling, screaming at me with rage, why was she cupping my cheek with those _impossibly _soft hands, still looking into my eyes, her own warm and pleading. “But I know what I want. _Who_ I want. You.”

But… but… but… she… Fred… it wasn’t… she couldn’t… I was just… me. I was the loner. Hovering at the edge of the group. Accepted, but never truly one of them. Not as clever as her, not as kind, as funny, as attractive… I was _normal._ I was closed off, untrusting, prickly, stuffy, boring… I was no better or worse than billions of other people.And Fred was perfect. Utterly perfect.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Fred questioned earnestly. She sounded like she was asking me why I didn’t believe the sky was blue, rather than why I didn’t believe that she could ever, possibly, under any circumstances barring the most powerful of love spells, feel the way about me that I felt about her.

“Yes.” I answered, my voice raw. I needed water. I needed a clear head. I needed this dream to end, so I could wake up and face reality, before the promise of this, of _her_, crushed me when she was snatched away.

“Why?” Fred frowned, voice incredulous, tilting her head. “You’re so sweet. So kind. So very funny. You know me so well, you care so much and… and you’re so, so handsome. And, God, you’re clever. I’ve never met anyone as clever as you and-”

I pinched the skin of my arm and twisted viciously. Pain flared and I contained my wince: I wasn’t dreaming. But if I wasn’t dreaming, then why-

“- why don’t you believe me?” Fred’s lower lip trembled. I realised with a start her expression had changed. Her posture. Everything. She didn’t look confused, she looked… guarded. Wary. She was trembling ever so slightly, eyes slightly wet, and…

Fred looked upset. A desperate need to reassure her burst up within me, overriding my own petty troubles, but how did I help her, what could she possibly be afraid-

Rejection? She was afraid that I did believe her, but was brushing her off? That wasn’t possible, there was no way that… but she did. She thought that. Fred - the single most beautiful, intelligent,lovely, desirable woman on the planet - was busily convincing herself that she was somehow the problem.

“Fred, it’s not what you’re thinking, I _swear._” I spoke as quickly as I could, with absolute sincerity, desperate to get my point across before she tied herself in emotional knots. I had to explain myself, explain my doubts. One, in particular. The most damning piece of evidence. “You just… outside the lifts, what you said to me… you said there was no room for… for office romance. _Ever_.” I remembered it like it was yesterday, the sting of rejection, the momentary despair, the loss, the heartbreak striking all over again…

“Oh!” Fred giggled, eyes closing for a moment. I frowned, just as she collapsed into another fit of giggles. Any worry on her face had vanished in a moment. Why was she…

“What’s so funny?” I frowned. What had I done? 

“You _totally_ missed the point of that whole conversation.” Fred had been beaming at me, but now she started to visibly control her smile. I’d… I’d _misinterpreted?_ I’d beaten myself up, felt unimaginable heartbreak, and isolated myself from Fred… because I’d seen a meaning to her words that hadn’t been there? “I… I was just jealous.”

“Jealous?” I frowned. That didn’t make any sense at all. “What… what do you-”

“Of _Sam._” Fred pouted up at me. 

“Oh.” My mind was racing. “Why?” But why would Fred be jealous of Sam? They were equally smart, but Fred was more sociable, stronger and more independent, her eyes lovelier, and Fred didn’t get jealous, she was above that (one minor incident with her teenage self excepted) why on earth would she- 

“Because she _wants_ you.” Fred murmured. I felt like I’d been smacked. Fred really… she thought that Sam was-

Fred’s hand cupped my cheek and she surged forwards, kissing me for perhaps at most a second before she pulled away. Vivid memories of the last time surfaced, and I exerted all my willpower not to push her against the wall and kiss her properly, eagerly, for as long as I could stay upright.

“And _I_ want you.” Fred continued. Fred had been jealous of Sam… because of me? Because we’d been spending time together? Fred… she really wanted to spend time with me? I’d been wrong. I’d thought she wanted to get away so I’d given her space, but really… she’d really wanted to pass the time with me? Of all the people in the world? _Me?_ Enough to make her jealous?

“I want to keep you all to myself.” Fred moved closer again, the warmth of her breath gusting over my cheek. An impossible thrill surged through me at the words. Fred really… she thought about me? In that way? Wanted to spend time with me, wanted to be… to be more than best friends? 

“I want you to be _mine_.” Her eyes looked like they had before she’d kissed me. But there was more this time, a… a quiet _desperation_ that I’d never seen in her before. Never. Not even when she’d come for my help with Seidel or Jasmine, she’d never looked quite so…

Vulnerable. Open. Hopeful. 

Fred wanted me to be _Hers_. The thrill that passed through me at the words dwarfed any previous excitement or anticipation I’d ever felt. 

“Will…” Fred’s voice trembled. “Will you be mine?” 

I still couldn’t believe it. Despite all she’d said, despite the fact that I knew Fred would never deceive me like this, that this could never, ever be alcohol talking… It was too good to be true. It was… she was…

“I’m dreaming.” I whispered, without any real conviction. For the first time in so long, I allowed myself to really _look_ at Fred. Not to glance at her in passing. To nod along and look over politely as part of conversation. I let my eyes wander, without any purpose beyond marvelling at her. Those lush dark curls. The nervousness, the genuineness, the hope in that beautiful smile. The warmth in her impossibly lovely, incomparable eyes. I let myself think about her, allowed myself to reminisce: about her intellect. Every case she’d cracked thinking it was easy while the rest of us stood there gormless, the problems she’d worked at incessantly, the ones that seemed impossible until they weren’t (building a machine to bring a shard of a spirit back to full corporeality? Defeating a living goddess?). Her kindness, those thousand acts she performed every day while thinking nothing of it, that no other person would ever think of doing. Not unless they wanted something. Which she didn’t. No ulterior motive. Just kindness. How cute and sweet she was, in her own unique, completely natural way. Her excited smiles, the occasional babbling, her entire being…

And none of that even began to capture her. There were a thousand, _no a million_, different reasons and attributes that made her Fred, that made her wonderful beyond compare.

What the hell was I waiting for? “This… this can’t possibly be happening.” I said it one last time, to put my doubts to rest, and felt the smile take over my face. I couldn’t have stopped for anything.

Fred’s smile widened. “Could you… dream this?” She asked playfully. I was on the verge of asking ‘what’ when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me. I lost myself in it, fully reciprocating, letting her take the lead. I was glad I did.

This kiss was nothing like the last one. It was slower. More tender. Less heady, and more exploratory. It felt like Fred was getting to know every inch of me very intimately. It felt incredible. She took an age to actually break away, extricating herself ever so slowly, like she was impossibly reluctant to stop. She finally pulled away - those pretty lips delightfully swollen - and looked up at me, smile untouched.

“No.” I shook my head. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that. It felt like… like… Fred had kissed me like she _cared_ about me. Deeply. Intensely. Almost like the passion was an afterthought, and I was the priority. “No, I… I couldn’t.” 

“Then… will you be mine?” Fred’s expression wasn’t pleading any more. She was satisfied. She knew my answer.

She should have known it all along. There had never been any question, never any doubt about my choice once I was certain of her intentions.

“Yes.” I felt my smile grow wider of its own accord, and reached up to brush one curl off her face, stroking the cheek beneath it with my thumb. “With all of my mind. With all of my soul. With all of my heart.” I waited patiently for her to respond, admiring her in the meanwhile.

God, she was so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I wish I could tell her that. But it was too soon. Much too soon. I’d tell her someday. I had somedays to look forward to now. The thought filled me with boundless wonder.

“Then I’ll be all yours.” Fred’s finger came up to gently stroke my lips. I stifled a moan. I got the message. No more talking.

“Fred?” I whispered.

Fred shivered against me. “Hold me.” She purred, gaze intense, voice _insistent._ I obliged, wrapping her completely in my arms. She fit perfectly against me. Fred reached up, one arm going around my shoulders, the other resting on my lower back. She tilted her head at me slightly.

Like she was waiting for me to make the next move. “Fred?” I murmured, trying to muster up the courage to say it. She smiled at me, a smile of encouragement, endearment, of unrestrained sweetness. “Please… please kiss me?”

She did. Repeatedly. By far the best kisses of my life. Kisses that made me want to keep her wrapped in my arms and never let her go. “Lord, I’m so _stupid._” Fred gasped at one point, before she closed the distance between us, kissing me with renewed ferocity. 

“Nonsense.” The words came out as a soft growl. I had to disabuse her of that ridiculous notion. “You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever known.”

“Okay, maybe-” She looked so incredibly _satisfied_ that I couldn’t resist. I moved closer- “But, wait, stop just one second!”

I drew back and counted mentally, unable and unwilling to look away from her. Fred whimpered slightly (in a happy way) and swallowed. “So-”

That was one second. I kissed her again, and she giggled happily against my mouth for a moment before she reciprocated the kiss. I made this one long, and pulled away just as slowly as she had earlier.

“Sorry, you were saying something?” I took great pains to keep my voice nonchalant. “I interrupted you.”

“Right, yes.” Fred nodded, frowning very cutely. Her nose wrinkled up ever so slightly, brow furrowing, and I smiled fondly. How had I ever deluded myself into thinking I could stay away from her and somehow be happy? I stole another opportunity to leisurely, reverently examine her face, particularly her eyes.

And that adorable little flush that had just appeared on her cheeks. Because of _me_.

“Right, just gimme one seco-” I grinned in anticipation and Fred’s eyes widened as she cut herself off mid-sentence. “No, like, forty-five seconds!”

A disappointed pout replaced my smile. Forty-five seconds? That was cruel. Forcing me to go without Fred for almost a minute? Unbearable. I resigned myself, began to count, and listened.

Fred rolled her eyes, then her expression turned thoughtful. “Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong. Drunk kisses - _typically_ not the best kisses, right?”

“Correct.” I frowned. But… but this was different. These were spectacular. They were… they were spectacular for her too, weren’t they? I’d… she was enjoying this too, wasn’t she? “But-”

Fred cut me off gently. “But _these_. I mean… wow, right?” She smiled at me, shyly. “They’re wow for you too?”

I breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Very wow.” I agreed.

“Look, what I’m saying is… if this is how good our drunk kisses are,” Fred smiled broadly. “Think about how much better it’s all going to be later.” She had a good point (as always). If this was what a _drunk_ kiss was like, then a… then a normal kiss (as if any kiss involving Fred could be normal)… that would be… wow.

Fred must have seen the agreement written on my face, as she pressed on. “So considering how amazing the kissing is, and how amazing you are, how _stupid_ is it that I waited for _months_ to kiss you?” Fred sighed.

“Not even a little bit.” I murmured. Fred had needed time. To think. To consider what I’d done, and whether I was still… whether she was still… but now she’d decided. That was all that mattered. “Fred, I don’t mind that-”

“I should have kissed you at the dinner after we saved Nina…” Fred sighed. “Or… or when you reassured me after Pavayne broke my machine… or I should really have told Angelus to go _screw himself_, and kissed you right there on the stairs in the Hyperion. I… I’m sorry. I kept you waiting so long, and… and I’ve _never_ made it even remotely easy for you, and-” 

This was the time to interrupt her, I thought. Before she went on blaming herself. “If there is anything in this wide, beautiful world worth waiting for, you are.” I murmured truthfully, and kissed her cheek. “I don’t want someone who’ll make life easy for me. I want someone who challenges me, who excites me, who pushes me and makes me want to do the best I can do, be the best I can be. I want _you_.” I kissed her other cheek. She’d been all that I wanted for such a long time.

Fred’s eyes widened as I spoke, staring into mine. She was trembling ever so slightly in my arms. I thought in a good way. In a very good way, if her expression was anything to judge by. I pushed on. "And, in answer to whatever point it was that I kept you from making…” The point about all the things she mistakenly thought she’d done wrong, when the fault had been mine every step of the way. I smiled, and said the words I’d wanted to say to her for so very long. “You are absolutely, completely, uniquely perfect.” I kissed her gently, chastely.

“I…” Fred’s mouth opened and closed a few times, her cheeks flushing pink, voice uncertain. But happy. She sounded _touched_. That made me happier than I’d ever thought possible. That just my uncollected, messy thoughts about her could make her happy. That made me feel just a tiny bit worthy of her affection. “Wesley, I … I just… I don’t have your silver tongue, especially now, I… I don’t know how to…”

I’d put her on the spot. While drunk. Which was tragically unfair of me. “Fred, you don’t have to resp-”

One of her fingers moved up to gently push my lips closed. I stopped talking. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, brow scrunching up ever so slightly. Then she stood up a little straighter and smiled, eyes opening to make eye contact. “Wes…” Her voice was soft and utterly genuine. “I love you.”

I blinked. I tried to process. Ah. My eyes were damp. That was to be expected, I suppose, as Fred had… as she’d just… if she… “I love _you_.” I whispered, and the tears flooded forth. Fred started crying too, happy tears like mine, and we pulled each other into a tight, close embrace. One I felt suddenly sure I never wanted to leave. “I love you so much. You’re… you’re my whole world.”

“I love you.” Fred wormed her head into the crook between my neck and shoulder. She fit perfectly. “So much. You’re _everything_ to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you, I… I…” She stopped talking. What more did we need to say?

We clung to each other a few moments, until our tears had subsided. Then Fred extricated herself from my shoulder, tilted her head up, and coaxed me into a passionate kiss. I lost track of time.

Something was bothering me. It was at the back of my mind. A tiny stray thought. A tiny stray thought tugging on my arm, bothering me, distracting me from Fred, from kissing her, which was incredibly annoying (not the kissing, god that was brilliant, the distraction from it) and had to end. I needed to address the thought so I could dispose of it.

“Was… was there a _reason_ we came down here?” I posited.

Fred frowned. “Huh.” She looked around curiously. “Privacy, maybe?” She suggested.

Ah. That made _perfect_ sense. And, distraction dealt with… I beat down to kiss her, but Fred deftly tilted her head away from me, avoiding anything more than a light kiss.

I felt rather cheated. Which was ridiculous and unfair. But I did.

Fred giggled up at me, expression becoming half-serious. “Look, Wes, I… I think there was another reason we’re down here.” She looked me over and frowned. “Does it have something to do with your shirt being missing?”

That I did have an answer to. “No, that was, ah, you.” I nodded to where my shirt lay, discarded on the floor. Exactly where Fred had thrown it. After she’d half-unbuttoned it, growled something about taking too long, and ripped it open (losing a great deal of buttons).

That had been extremely gratifying. First mentally, and then physically in the aftermath. Fred was talented. And eager.

“Oh.” Fred looked at the shirt, then at me, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t say sorry.” I smiled. “I don’t mind.” Which was an understatement.

“But it’s so cold in here!” Fred looked slightly slack-jawed at all the freezers. “Wes, you must be _freezing!”_

“You didn’t really give me a chance to lose any heat…” I mumbled, then frowned. The freezers… they were important. Somehow. “Were we down here to get something from the freezers?”

Fred frowned, eyes narrowing. “Ice cream?” She suggested doubtfully (but with an optimistic and hopeful tone that made me vow to procure an ice cream for her as soon as possible).

“No, something else.” I frowned. “Something for Lorne. Or Angel. Something important, I think. Something-”

Fred kissed my cheek, lingering for a long and precious moment. “It can wait.”

I frowned. “But what if-”

Fred looked up at me, eyes going wide. She looked at me pleadingly, and her voice was pleading too, along with that smile. “Please?”

Something about her bypassed my central nervous system, causing an immediate outward reaction. “Of course, of course.” I nodded. How could I ever refuse her? “We can…” I frowned. Wait a second. This was… this was… she’d demonstrated this earlier!

“You just pulled a Raggedy Ann on me.” I declared. And it had worked. Of course it had worked. Who would be more vulnerable to that than me?

“That sounds untrue.” Fred kissed me with passion. “Mmm.”

“No, I think that you…” Fred cut me off. Firmly and in a way that sapped me of any desire to resist. “I mean… what was I saying?”

“Something not relevant to kissing.” Fred smiled, running one finger tortuously slowly across my mouth. 

Only fair I returned the favour. Fred purred gently in response. “Not relevant at all, then.” I mused. Anything not relevant to kissing Fred… well. It simply couldn’t be important.

“Now you’re getting it.” Fred beamed at me.

I couldn’t help but smile. “I love you.” I really did

Fred bumped her nose against mine, a playful spark in her eyes. “I love you too.” She cupped my cheek, moving forward until our breath mingled. “Now… where were-”

I heard the doors crash open and whirled to face them, ready to-

_Sam? _Oh, hells. I felt guilt rush through me. How on earth did I explain-

How had she slammed the doors open so hard and fast the walls had been dented? Why was she marching towards us with an expression of incredibly intense concentration on her face.

I felt my gut coil. Something was happening. I was sure it was bad. Perhaps I could defuse this. I opened my mouth to-

“Sam, this… this is a restricted area!” Fred yelled, one hand moving to her hip while her other posted accusingly at Sam. “Practical science personnel only! Get out of here now, or-”

I felt an invisible force take hold of me, wrenching me around until I was standing… I was standing exactly where I’d been before I’d asked Fred why she was looking at me, before she’d kissed me. Fred had likewise moved into that same pose. No. No, what was… was Sam… “Sam, what on earth is-” Her hand clamped onto the back of my head, repositioning me until I was standing exactly how I had been before. Pure terror raced through me. She was using magic against us. But how could she… she wasn’t…

She was _Sam_. She was my friend.

Fred yelled. “SAM! I swear, you had better-”

Sam’s hand clamped firmly around Fred’s forearm, tight enough to make her wince. Anger reared its ugly head, and I readied a counterspell, preparing to undo whatever magic had- 

“Thanks for the memories.” Sam smiled sweetly at Fred. Fred’s eyes fluttered closed but she stayed standing, eyes shifting rapidly under her eyelids.

“SAM!” I roared. “Stop this instant, or-“

I couldn’t speak. Why couldn’t I speak? Sam removed her hand from Fred’s forearm and waved it airily. Fred’s lipstick, smudged, carefully rearranged itself. Her hair - messy from my ministrations - neatened itself back to how it had been before. I saw my buttons beginning to reattach themselves to my shirt, as the garment floated towards me.

_No…_

Sam’s finger pushed gently against my face and wiped firmly. It came away with the smudges of Fred’s lipstick that had remained on me on the tip. She waved her finger. The lipstick melted off her finger, vanishing into the air. “You look much better without that gunk on you.” Sam smiled sweetly at me and I felt pure terror curl out from within me. Who was… what was she? “See you soon, Wes.” She beamed.

Darkness flooded in from every direction, and I couldn’t fight it, I tried to stay awake, but I slipped away into-

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I hoped he’d been in there long enough, seen enough. I didn’t have much time, after all. Keeping my sleeve wrapped around my hand, I snatched the cube out of his open hands. Wesley jerked upright in an instant from his seating position, looking around wildly, gasping for air. His eyes were wide, nose still red - I was worried he’d been Sam! - and his mouth was opening and closing with no words coming out.

“Wesley?” I spoke slowly, carefully transferring the window into my pocket. Best to get it out of his sight. “Wesley, how far did you get? What did you see?”

“I… I saw…” Wesley closed his eyes, burying his head in his hands. “It felt so _real_.”

“It _was_ real.” I said firmly. “It happened.”

“No!” Wesley stood up, hand away from his face. “I would remember. If that happened, then _I would remember!_”

“Your memories were erased. Wiped away and replaced by a facsimile.” I spoke deliberately. “And you know whom by.”

“No!” Wesley turned away, jaw setting. “I would know. I would know. She… she wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Sam already did. You saw her do it, didn’t you? Saw her position us exactly as we were before I kissed you, then erase our memories? Destroy all the evidence.”

“I saw a hallucination.” Wesley glared back at me. “A vision conjured by… by some kind of dark artefact, preying on my fears. I… she wouldn’t… Sam would never-”

“The device was an Orlon window!” I used every scrap of willpower I had to keep my voice calm, to control myself. I had to convince him. Yelling would not help. Reason and logic were what Wesley respected. “Look it up in your tome. It restores lost memories.”

Wesley darted over to the desk, swiping up his source book and raising it to his mouth. “Slypthorn’s Catalogue. Orlon Window.” He lowered the book and threw it open on the desk. Ink coloured the page rapidly: dozens of paragraphs of tiny writing cluttered at the sides, an illustration of the Orlon Window in the centre.

For a moment, he just read. I waited.

“No.” He said quietly.

“Wesley-”

“_No._” His voice was choked. Quieter. “No, Sam… Sam’s not… she isn’t like… I _love_ her…” He was crying. Tears falling onto the parchment, darkening it.

My heart broke. “Wesley, it’s okay.” I moved over to him.

“No, it’s not, it’s not, I… I… she’s…”

“It’s not your fault.” I whispered, and pulled him into an embrace. “What she did… it’s not your fault.”

He sobbed against me, great heaving sobs. I just stroked the top of his head gently, feeling utterly powerless. What did I say? What could anyone say, after what he’d just found out? There was nothing. Nothing that could salve this.

It didn’t feel like long before he straightened up, rubbing his eyes. He swallowed. “You’re sure?” He said quietly. “You’re… absolutely sure that this _is_ an Orlon window, not a forgery, and that… that what we saw is… is accurate, not distorted or-”

“I went to see Mali.” I explained. “And then I went to see the Loa. They both confirmed what it is.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “The _Loa?_ Fred, that was… that was insane! The Loa is malevolent, cunning, that was an insane risk! You should have come to-”

“I didn’t have time! I _still_ don’t have time, Wesley, I’ll be _dead in an hour!”_ I hadn’t meant to shout. But that’s how it had come out.

_“What?”_ For a second, his eyes widened further. Then they went cold. Cold and calculating. “What’s the danger? Is it… is she going…”

“Not directly.” I swallowed. “Remember how her goal was to replace me? One of the ones in the file we told you about. Well, turns out, the Partners have arranged a little accident for me. Today. On the way home, it sounds like. Sam… I figured her out a while ago, right after our… conversation, and she gloated to me about it, then wiped my memories. And the Orlon window showed me that memory, just this morning! So… so if I don’t walk out that door soon to go happily to my death, Sam’s going to show up, wipe my memory again, and make damn sure I go to the firing squad with an oblivious smile on my face!”

Wesley’s knuckles whitened. “If… if our memories can be rewritten, how the hell do we win?”

“I figured it out.” I couldn’t suppress a grin. “Angel.”

Wesley frowned. “I agree that Angel is definitely our best chance, but I don’t see how that solves-”

“The Partners can’t rewrite his memories. And neither can anyone associated with them. It’s in his contract.” I explained. “Special immunity clause.”

“Just _his_ contract?” Wesley’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t he make sure we were immune too?”

“Long story. I’ll explain later.” I took a deep breath. “But right now, you and me just have to walk upstairs, and act casual. It’s like a two minute walk to Angel’s office, and then once we tell him I’ll be-”

The blood drained from Wesley’s face. I spun around to face the door: Sam wasn’t there. Thank God. But then… “Wes, what is it?”

“Angel’s gone out.” He whispered. “He told me just a few hours ago he was leaving for the day. And most of tomorrow. Said he had things to take care off.”

No. No, that couldn’t… of all the days, why would today be… when I most needed… _Sam._ “Sam must have organised this!” I resisted the urge to scream with frustration. “Dammit!”

“Call him.” Wesley stood up, fumbling for his phone. “We just have to-”

“Are you guys having a party without me?”

My blood ran cold in my veins. Desperately trying to fix a convincing expression of pleasant surprise on my face, I spun around to face her. “Sam!” I beamed. She was standing in the doorway, hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in jeans and a cardigan. A teasing expression was fixed on her face, mixed with the tiniest amount of hurt and suspicion.

Which was actually really good. Because if Sam was really suspicious of us, she’d never let it show. That suspicion and hurt were there for our benefit, to stick a knife of guilt between our ribs, make us think she was worried about me stealing Wesley from her (which was ridiculous, since she had stolen _him_ from _me!)_.

It all came down to this. If I could get past Sam now, without raising her suspicions, I could get out of the building. Then, instead of running into whatever accident the Partners had arranged for me - presumably on my way home from work - I would get as far from her as possible, hell maybe to another country, and focus all my efforts on contacting Angel and staying under the radar. I just had to get past her.

“Wesley was just checking up on me.” I rolled my eyes. “Such a big softie. Apologising about the extra work your little holiday-”

Wesley joined right in with the deception, nonchalantly closing the book behind me. “I’d hardly call a covert infiltration of a warlock cult with the goal of assassinating its leader a holiday.”

“- had caused me.” I paused and grinned. “I’ll be sending you guys some very fun paperwork tomorrow to make up for all my grief.”

“Tomorrow?” Sam raised an eyebrow, brow furrowing. “You checking out already? It’s barely six.”

“It is late enough.” I said firmly, walking around my desk and stooping to grab my handbag. “I am going to go home, take a nice long bath, eat some ice cream, and watch some funny movies until I forget about how much work I have to do.” God, my heart was hammering.

How had Sam dealt with the stress of deceiving all of us for months? I’d had all of two conversations with her and I was ready to have a heart attack. I hoped it didn’t show outwardly.

“Oh, of course, I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to say you had to work!” Sam giggled, shaking her head and flushing slightly as she took a few steps forward into the room, gently nudging the door closed behind her. “I just… I only… Wes, please translate.” Why had she closed the door? That was bad. That was a bad sign.

“Sam is trying to express polite surprise that you’re leaving early, but is very happy for you.” Wesley grinned. He _was_ good at this. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have been sure he was utterly at ease, and finding the whole situation very amusing. He casually stood up and stretched, picking up the source book and moving to the side of the desk. 

“You guys want to meet up tomorrow, hit a bookstore?” I smiled keenly, looking between them, willing that bead of sweat to stay right where it was and not roll down my forehead. I couldn’t look too keen to get out of here. That would set off alarm bells. 

“Sounds great.” Wesley raised an eyebrow at Sam. “We could pick up that new anthology you wanted to buy.”

“Yeah sure.” Sam nodded, smiling. “Say, eleven am?”

“Absotively.” I beamed. “The little bookshop by the hotel?”

“Great.” Wesley nodded, moving up to stand beside Sam. My skin crawled. I knew he had to maintain the ruse but… but…

Ew. 

“Okay, then.” Sam smiled angelically. “See you tomorrow!”  
“Seeya!” I waved, a wave of relief crashing over me. “Have a great evening!”

I turned and began to walk towards the door. Three steps away, two steps away, just one-

“Fred! Fred!” Sam called out. My stomach tied itself in a knot that would do a sailor proud. I turned around and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “You forgot something!” Sam skipped up to me, holding out my car keys.

Oh, God, I was stupid. I’d grabbed my handbag but not my keys. That was fine. That was totally in character. “Oh, thanks!” I smiled gratefully, letting her drop the keys into my open palm. “Lord, I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  
“Maybe.” Sam smiled. “Just like you forgot those source books are Wolfram and Hart property.”

What did she…

No! No, now I knew why she was here! She’d come because- 

“So when somebody looks up ‘Orlon Window’ in one of those,” Sam’s smile was still in place. “That kinda rings some alarm bells for me. Especially when it’s you two. But I give you an eight out of ten on your acting. Really, top notch.” It had all been a game. She’d been playing with us.

She’d known from the start.

“I looked it up before Fred arrived.” Wesley adopted a quizzical expression, but I saw his body tense where he stood. He wanted to come over. But he knew he couldn’t. Walking over here doubled our vulnerability. “One of the researchers found one at Vail’s mansion, in some secret room, and I couldn’t remember what it was they-”

“_Don’t_ lie to me Wesley.” Sam’s voice was unchanged, but her eyes flashed before she turned to face him. “You should never, _ever_ lie to me, Wesley. Especially when I already know you’re lying.”

We stood there for a second in silence. I couldn’t run for the door. She’d barely have to move to grab my arm. And she’d probably locked the door with magic and soundproofed the room, just like last time. I was a mouse in a trap.

Except this trap also contained a panther.

“Sam.” Wesley’s voice was soft. All the deception vanished from his face, replaced with desperation. “Sam, _please_. Please don’t do this. I know you’re better than this, I _know_ there is good in you, you don’t have to obey them. Please.”

I would have sworn I saw hesitation flash across her features for a moment. Unless that had been for Wes’s benefit. “I’m sorry, Wesley.” She said quietly. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do.” He whispered. “You do. Choose us. We can help you, we can-”

Sam spun around to face me, one hand descending towards my forearm. But I was ready. I had a plan. It was a terrible, half-assed, short-term plan that could blow up in my face. But it was all I had. While Sam grabbed my left hand, I dug my right hand into my pocket and clamped it around the Orlon window.

I screamed. A horrible, icy cold was surging up my left arm, while a volcanic heat burned through my right. They met in the middle of my body and collided with a crescendo of pain, along with a headache that made me feel like my brain was about to split in two. But I _remembered_.

Sam stumbled backwards, backing up against my desk, breathing heavily. Her eyes locked on mine and she began to make a motion with her arms that I was _sure_ was going to create magic I would not like the end result of. I grimaced, said a silent prayer to Cordelia to look out for me one last time, and hurled the Orlon window at the floor in front of Sam with all my strength.

The Loa had said that passing through the Orlon window was impossible. Unless you broke it. It descended towards the floor, spinning end over end-

And shot back into the air, hovering in front of Sam’s face. My stomach dropped. She’d caught it. With her magic. I was doomed. From when she’d grabbed my arm, I’d lasted all of two seconds against her. Sam smiled sweetly at me.

I knew what a gunshot sounded like. In the confined space of my office, the noise was deafening. But nowhere near as deafening as the sound of the explosion created when the bullet hit the Orlon window, shattering the object into a thousand pieces, and unleashing a bright yellow explosion.

In the space of a heartbeat, it all _fit_. 

I’d seen the memories before. Lived through them almost a dozen times thanks to the window. But I hadn’t remembered them. I’d remembered Sam’s version of events from my past, and the experiences of the window as just that. Experiences had when I held the window. Like watching an immersive movie about myself, rather than living it. But now the memories slotted neatly into place. I _remembered _Halloween properly, and Sam’s fake version of events suddenly seemed laughable. I remembered the office after the cyborg with perfect clarity. And I remembered Sam standing right where she was stood now, giggling about my imminent death.

Which made it a thousand times more satisfying to watch her eyes widen as the Orlon window exploded maybe a centimetre away from her face, the force of the blast tossing her backwards across my office, knocking over my desk on her way past, through the air.

Out of the window. The glass shattered behind her with a crash barely audible over the aftershock of the Orlon window’s blast and she travelled a few metres away from the building before plummeting out of sight, shock mingled with _indignation_ fixed on her face.

I blinked twice. I turned to Wesley. He was standing, braced against the wall, pistol clutched in his right hand. A tiny wisp of smoke curled out of the barrel, pointed directly at where the Orlon window had been. “You saved me.” I whispered, somewhat redundantly. My mouth worked silently for a moment. “Do… do you…”

“I remember.” Wesley nodded.

He remembered what we’d said. That night. Properly. Alright then. That was fine. That was great. I wasn’t freaking out, why would I be freaking out, everything was great. We’d done it!

“We did it.” I breathed, wide smile creeping over my face. “Wesley, we did it! We _got her!”_

Wesley’s expression remained resolutely grim. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

I scoffed. Such a pessimist. “Wesley, c’mon, the fall’s at least twenty stories, there’s no way anyone could…” The familiar and unpleasant feeling of my blood going cold hit again. “The blood of the Partners.” I said numbly.

She was alive. She was almost definitely alive. And she was probably really, _really_ pissed off.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“We need to get out of here.” I reloaded my pistol and marched over to hold the door open, keeping my eyes on the window. I had to hope she couldn’t fly. If she could fly… she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. So she’d have to come back through the building to get us. “Fred, get your phone.”

“Yes, right. Right.” Fred snatched up her phone and walked quickly out of her office. We began to traverse the lab. “Well, the worst is behind us, at least.” Fred whispered to me as we walked.

“How do you figure?” I glanced around suspiciously: who knew what she (she whose name I would not think about, because that would confuse me, and I could not allow myself to be confused now, not when everything was at stake) was capable of. The intellect, the magic, the _blood_…

“Wes, c’mon.” Fred shot me a sideways glance full of confidence. “You’re the most capable fighter I know by a long shot, with the possible exception of Angel. And that’s without superpowers. Plus, unlike Angel, you always have tricks up your sleeves, multiple weapons, and _frickin’ magic._”

“And the upshot is?”

“You can take her.” Fred grinned. “Pfft. No problem.”

I choked. Take her? She was a demigod. Super-strong, super-durable, and with the power coursing in her veins to convert that magical knowledge into refined destructive power. Hell, she’d taken down _Cyvus Vail_ in seconds. Not to mention that she’d presumably infiltrated his mansion beforehand, bypassing all his defences to successfully rewrite his memory so well he hadn’t noticed any fakery before his demise.

I could _not_ take her. I could perhaps hold her off, for a few seconds at best, with magic. Any longer than that was asking for a miracle. “Wes, your face is worrying me.” Fred suddenly looked a lot less confident.

“I _can’t_ take her.” I hissed as we approached the lab doors. “You need to call Angel. Now.”

“I will, I _am!”_ Fred began dialling. “But I know you, Wes, you have a contingency plan for every scenario! You’re telling me there’s nothing you can-”

I heard the sound of glass shattering behind us. Both of us whirled to look in its direction: a lab tech was staring at an empty glass beaker he’d dropped on the floor, where it had shattered. He stumbled forwards, bracing himself on the worktop, blinking slowly. His eyes closed, and he slumped to the floor with a drawn-out groan.

It was a scene being repeated across the lab, by everyone. Except Fred and I.

“Oh, _fuck._” I swore. She must have-

“What the hell is this?” Fred spun in a circle, eyes sweeping the rom. 

“One of my contingency plans.” I threw open the lab door, ushering Fred through it. She began to run ahead and I jogged to catch up with her. “The building’s defence system. I installed it after the cyborg attack.”

“What kind of defence system is this?” Fred demanded.

“There’s a list of people. People that are absolutely trusted. When the defence system activates,and as long as it remains so, anyone inside the building not on that list falls unconscious. We designed it to prevent another attack, or a mass betrayal by the staff-”

_“We?”_ Fred demanded, eyes flashing dangerously (and very attractively) as she came to a sudden stop.

Ah. This was the rub. “Sam and I.” I avoided eye contact. “We’re the ones with the magic incantation to activate it.”  
“So turn it off!”

“I can’t. To turn off, both of us have to say the counter-command!”  
“That’s so stupid!” Fred was glaring at me. I was missing the confident looks more and more by the second.

“It’s a standard two-key system!” I protested. 

“That’s for launching a nuclear missile! Not taking it back! Why could she activate it without you?”

“I designed it that way in case one of us was out of the building when the attack happened!”

“_You_ designed it this way?” Fred demanded, one eyebrow rising.

“It might have been Sam’s idea.” I mumbled.

“Ugh!” Fred buried her face in her hands, slowing to a stop. “Why didn’t you bring me in? I could have done this just as well scientifically!”  
“You were on holiday!” I protested. “Or, you claimed you were on holiday, when in fact you were investigating her!”

“I was trying to save your life based on a tipoff from Cordelia!” Fred growled. “Don’t you _dare_ blame this on me!”

“I wasn’t!” I protested. “Merely explaining that-”

“What is the deal with you and evil women, anyway?” Fred demanded, jabbing my chest accusingly and folding her arms.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“What, the evil lawyer wasn’t _bad_ enough for you?” Fred huffed. “Miss Usher-in-the-Apocalypse, torture Lorne, make our lives hell, duplicitous, snarky, bitchy lawyer was too sunshine and rainbows? So you traded up: went straight for the _evil demigod_ with magic powers, a god complex, and a single-minded determination to ruin my life and then have me killed!”

“Sam seemed perfectly nice!” I spluttered indignantly. “She… she was clever, and sweet, and we spent a lot of time together, and I thought she was really-”

“In need of saving?” Fred snorted. “She exploited your hero complex, then gloated to me about it! And _don’t_ pretend the fact she’s a total knockout didn’t influence you at all!”

“The way she looked was _not_ a primary concern!” I was yelling. When had that happened?

Fred yelled right back. “Sure, sure, I forgot - it was the evil, right? All boys want bad girls? You’re not happy unless you’re trying to lure someone wicked away from the dark side?”

“That is grossly inaccurate!”

“Do evil women smell different?” Fred demanded, shaking her head, hands on hips. “Is it that they don’t wear glasses? Are they better in bed? Please, Wesley, give me an explanation of why you keep falling for-”

“Sam was like _you!_” The words came from nowhere. Fred stopped talking, mouth wide open. Oh. I’d said that out loud. “A thousand times cleverer than me? Kind to a bloody fault? Always trying to do what’s best for people? Funny, competitive, sweet, brave, courageous, independent, fiery, assertive, and yes, fine, I’m human, you’re _exceptionally beautiful!_ Maybe that makes me shallow, but that is the tru-”

Fred slammed me into the wall and kissed me passionately. I think I switched tracks remarkably well, given the circumstances, moving from truth rant to full attention on the kiss in shy of a second. Fred was eager, warm, soft, and an _incredible_ kisser.

She pulled away, gasping for breath. I was also struggling for air. I didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, the desperation, or just bias but… but that was a hell of a lot better than Halloween.

“Wow. Hypothesis proved.” Fred murmured, slightly glassy eyed.

“Pardon?” I managed, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

“Sober kisses. Much better. Amazing.” Fred blinked several times, visibly refocusing herself. “That was for luck, by the way.”

“Ah.”

“And also because I might be dead in an hour.”

“Oh.”

“But if I wasn’t going to die, I’d still want to kiss you.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to do it again.”

“Are you sure that’s-” She did. “Wise?”

“Probably not. We shouldn’t do it again. That would be stupid.”

“Yes. Yes it would be.”

We proceeded to be stupid for a little while longer. Fred was addictive. I couldn’t stop. Neither could she, if what was happening was any indication. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. I didn’t know which thought excited me more.

“I need to call Angel!” Fred leapt away - generating a pang of loss - and ducked down to grab her phone off the floor (I hadn’t noticed her dropping it, but she’d definitely been using two hands at one point, so I suppose she must have done). “I forgot because… well… thinking about her aggravates me.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Given she’s evil.” It was a struggle to force the word out. But I knew she was, now. The Orlon window had proved that.

“No, since long before that.” Fred murmured in response, typing in numbers.

“Oh.” I frowned. “Because of me?”

“Because you used to _drool_ all over her and she drooled right back?” Fred smiled at me mischievously. “Guess so.” I briefly wondered if there was a nearby pit I could hurl myself into. 

“And, um, for the record? The kiss really wasn’t just for luck. It was also because you’re smart, and my best friend, in the good way not in the not-wanting-to-kiss-you kind of way, and I really like you, so it was really barely for luck at all, and I’ve been moping over you like a lovesick fool for months now, and I’m sick of it, and also you’re _amazingly_ good at kissing, not sure if I mentioned that but wow, so incredibly good, so do you want to get dinner tonight, if I don’t die?” Fred bit her lip and glanced at me shyly.

I struggled to process everything. In my defence, my brain was still slightly fuzzy. An after-effect of the best kisses of one’s life, I imagined. Some of what she’d said made me blush. Some of it made me feel guilty. All of it made me want to kiss her again. But, since that would be suicidal right now, in lieu of it…

“Yes.” I answered, nodding. “Absolutely yes.”

“Great.” Fred smiled, blushing slightly pink and adjusting her hair slightly. “Fantastic. So… just don’t let me die, okay?”

“I’ll die first.”

“Please don’t do that.” Fred looked at me, eyes pleading. “Please.”

“I’ll try my best.” I swallowed. “Fred, you need to dial. There’s not much time.”

“Right. Sorry. Distracted by… you.” Fred, having already entered the number who knows how long ago, pushed the dial button.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

_“You’ve reached Angel. If you’re evil, call my office. If you’re good, leave a message.”_

No. Dammit, Angel, not now. Not now.

“Just answer your phone, man.” I muttered, more a prayer than anything else as Fred pressed redial. 

“He never answers.” Fred whispered, looking up at me. “I forgot he never answers because he always answers his office phone.”

There was a long pause. I thought furiously. Sam was definitely in the building right now. Everyone else - minus Lorne, Gunn, and Spike - was asleep. She’d find us in seconds with a tracking spell, then catch up to us with super speed. And if she laid even one finger on us, we’d forget everything she wanted us to. And Fred would walk straight to her death with a smile on her face.

_“You’ve reached Angel. If you’re evil, call my office. If you’re good, leave a message.”_

I had nothing. I turned to Fred. “What do we do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the endgame now.....
> 
> Also Fred & Wes finally got their act together! Only took them damn near 200k words! Better late than never!


	17. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cards on the table.

**Fred**

“We have to split up.” It was the only way. It went against everything I wanted, but… but if we didn’t, we were doomed. I could tell by Wesley’s face he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea either. “Wes-”

“Absolutely not.” He replied, voice taut. “I refuse to abandon you.”

“This is tactical.” I insisted, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Look, if you can’t take her then there is no point in us sticking together. If we do, then if she finds us, we lose. Game over. _But_ if we split up, and she finds one of us, the other is still in the game. Still a threat. Still able to save the other. Right?”

Wesley looked pained. “You’re right.”

“I don’t like it either.” I whispered. “I… I want to stay with you right now. But it’s not the smart thing to do. We have to be smart or… or…” Or I’d die.

“I have an idea!” Wesley’s eyes suddenly lit up. “A way to beat her. Or at least slow her down.”

“Great! What is it?”

“No time to explain!” Wesley grimaced. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Then run. Find the others, get out of here. Leave her to me.” Wesley turned and hesitated. “I…”

“I know.” I smiled at him. “Don’t die. Or I’ll be very cross.”

Wesley’s grin was genuine. “Noted.” We sprinted in opposite directions.

I cast one glance back at him: he’d looked back at the same time, just before he turned a corner. I tried not to dwell on the fact that if Sam caught up to me, it might be the last time I ever saw him. Probably would be.

No dwelling! More running! I took a left before I got the elevators, barging into the stairway and heading down. Sam might be in one of the elevators right now. I couldn’t risk taking them. Especially since I’d already used my one trick. The Orlon window wouldn’t save me again, either from her memory-altering magic, or her other tricks. I was on my own. But I wouldn’t be for long. 

Right. Think like you’re Sam. She’s probably tracking me through the building magically. I’m the primary target. If she gets to me, everything else can be dealt with in due course. Her goal would be to stop me from leaving the building or contacting Angel. Which means she’d be expecting me to head straight for the ground floor. Going up was out of the question: I’d be moving further into a trap. Going all the way down was crazy. I had to be random.

I left the stairway at the next exit, taking a left, then a right, then a right, then _another_ right and-

I slammed into someone and stumbled back: Charles! Oh, thank goodness!

“Fred!” Charles’ eyes lit up. “Glad you’re awake! Everybody else-”

“Yep, all asleep. Not good news. It’s the defence system.”

“Have you seen-”

“Wesley and Sam? Wesley’s alright, Sam’s evil.”

“Huh?” Gunn blinked at me, eyes widening. “As in-”

“Really evil.” I swallowed. “She lied about not knowing she was a spy. Everything else in the file was true. She can rewrite memories with a touch, and she’s trying to rewrite mine so that I’ll die later this afternoon in an accident orchestrated by the Partners.”

That covered everything. Right? Enough of everything. No time for the rest. “Ah, hell.” Charles growled, hefting his axe. “Spike was around here somewhere. I saw Lorne a few minutes ago, but he ran off looking for you. Angel is-”

“Out, and not answering his phone. Obviously.” I finished for him. “Charles, we need to run.”

“We can get out through Angel’s office.” We started moving that way. “Grab a car, high tail it out of here.”

“Sounds good.” I just had to stay ahead of here. Had to stay ahead of her as long as I could. “What floor are we on, by the way?”

Charles gave me a funny look. “Our floor. With Angel’s, mine, and Wesley’s offices.”

I groaned: so much for random. I couldn’t have picked a better floor for Sam to beeline for, even if she wasn’t mystically tracking my movements somehow.

We passed Charles’ office. So, given my luck, Sam would be dropping in any time around-

“Y’all are going somewhere?” There we go. I spun around on the spot.

Sam was sauntering down the stairs, looking none the worse for wear. Which was impressive, considering I’d effectively set off a grenade in her face and thrown her out a twentieth-floor window. “Away from you was the idea, honestly.” I admitted, taking a few slow steps backwards and pulling Charles along with me. He followed reluctantly.

“Aww. Just when we were starting to really get to know each other.” Sam reached the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the banister. “I suppose I’m not getting an apology for you throwing me out of a window?”

“That depends.” I felt my temper flare. “Are you going to apologise for plotting my death?”

“I can’t really see the point of that.” Sam raised both arms, shaking her wrists like she was warming up. I swallowed. “Now, I don’t suppose you’re gonna make this easy and come quietly? If you do, I’ll make your last memories very happy. I’ll even see to it that your death’s practically painless, and very quick.”

“We decline.” Charles hefted his axe menacingly. “And furthermore, I’m invoking article 4 subsection three, clause B of my contract, which specifically states all Wolfram and Hart personnel are contract-bound to assist me in preserving the life and wellbeing of executive-level staff members.” I guess that meant me. Gosh, executive level. If my parents could see me now.

“And I’ll invoke that same subsection, clause C.” Sam smiled. “Granting me immunity from that obligation, as a direct agent of the Partners themselves.”

“Ah. Well, it was worth a shot.” Charles grinned. “Guess we do this the painful way.” He lunged forward, raising his axe.

Sam sighed and waved one hand. Ropes materialised out of thin air directly in front of Charles and bound themselves around him tightly, binding his arms to his sides and legs together. Identical ropes materialised in front of me, moving too fast to dodge, and seconds later I was on the floor, wrapped up like a minimalist mummy. Darn, these ropes chafed.

Sam smiled sweetly. “Oh, it’s too easy. Now, shall we-”

Sam lurched backwards out of my field of view as something landed on her shoulders, sending her stumbling away. I craned my neck and felt my heart soar: Spike! He’d landed on the floor now, and had one arm around her neck, trying to pin her. But she was stronger than him, she had to be, and as soon as she recovered from her surprise, he was toast! Goddammit! Screw the Partners, and screw their stupid blood making her all-powerful!

Blood. The _blood!_ “Spike!” I yelled. “Her blood!” He understood, eyes narrowing as his face shifted into vamp form. I realised with a start I’d never seen Spike in that form. He was pretty par for the course in vampire terms. Didn’t make it any less scary when he sank his teeth into one flailing arm and bit down, hard.

A second later he was blasted upwards, slammed into the ceiling by some invisible force, before he crashed into the floor. I winced. Sam stumbled backwards, a grimace of pain on her face, cradling her arm. A flick of her free wrist caused the ropes to tighten around me, some of them lengthening to gag my mouth. No more helpful suggestions from me. I wriggled furiously, trying to worm out of the bonds: no chance. Much too tight.

“Wowzer.” Spike smacked his lips, licked them, then grinned. “Don’t you taste like sugar and spice and all things ready to _have their arse kicked!_” He charged forwards going a _hell_ of a lot faster than he normally did and body-slammed Sam, sending her stumbling back. She made a grab for his arm but he batted her away, and slammed a kick into her stomach.

“That’s _my_ blood.” Sam growled, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oh, yeah? Well those are my friends you got trussed up on the floor over there.” Spike rolled his shoulders and settled into a boxer’s stance. “You pathetic little creep. I trusted you.”

“You made it _so_ easy.” Sam shrugged, shifting almost imperceptibly, looking a lot lighter on her feet. “One question about a chandelier and a few short conversations with your ghostly self were enough to work my way into your good books.”

“You’re just poison.” Spike spat. “I’ve met a lot of people like you over the years. Killed most of them. They had it coming.”

“But so do _you_, right? I mean, that’s how Pavayne tricked you into thinking you were meant to go to hell.” Sam spilled apologetically. “I could have stopped him. Any time I liked. But… well. I kinda liked you incorporeal. You were convenient. Might make you that way again, soon. Wouldn’t take much. A little spell. I’d make it look like it was just Lindsey’s boxed mojo wearing off. You’ll fade back to being a ghost. Might be glad to be that way. Once Fred’s dead, I somehow doubt you’ll-“

“Pardon.” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I thought I heard you say you were gonna kill Fred.”

“Well. Technically the car will kill Fred. I won’t even be there. I’ll probably just be-”

Spike leaped at her, slamming two fists into her shoulders that sent her stumbling. He followed up with three more strikes, all of which she dodged. Every glass window in the lobby shattered at once, thousands of shards of glass hurtling towards Spike. He sprung directly upwards, launching himself over the wave, and announcing his grand return to earth by kicking Sam in the head on the way down.

Sam ducked the next kick and backed up the stairs to the upper level. As she moved past them, the stairs ripped themselves apart, launching themselves at Spike. The first two hit him in unison, knocking him down. He groaned loudly, but stumbled upright in time to dodge the next two, as well as leap over Charles’ desk, hurled at him from behind. Next came Angel’s desk.

Which he _caught_. And - visibly straining with the effort - threw straight at her. I wish I could have been close enough to see the look of surprise on her face as it hit. All I could see at this distance was the desk breaking apart as it flew towards her - more damn magic - but not fast enough to save her from being knocked down by the shrapnel. I would have cheered if I wasn’t gagged. As it was, I redoubled my (fruitless thus far) efforts to get out of the ropes.

Spike leapt up on to the upper level and reached Sam just as she tossed the desk aside. They traded a flurry of blows, arms a blur of motion. “See, this is why vampires are annoying.” Sam slammed her head into Spike’s nose, sending him stumbling backwards. “Nobody else could do this. Drink my blood and suddenly be on my level. It’s frankly insulting.” 

Green flames burst to life in her palm and she tossed a fireball at Spike, blasting him backwards. He rolled as he landed, straightening up, and jumped out of the way of her second fireball. He kicked off the wall as he went, ending up just behind Sam. Who he proceeded to hit with a punch so hard I heard the _crack_ of it connecting from here.

Sam staggered backwards, off balance, and Spike slammed her with punch after punch, arms, chest, shoulders, until she was sprawled against the railings. Green flame manifested in her hand, but Spike grabbed her, hefted her over the railings, and hurled her into the floor. The floor cracked under the impact and Spike leapt down after her, landing on her ribs, and slamming a rain of punches into her. 

Seconds later, Sam was sprawled on the floor. Unconscious. Holy shit.

He’d _won._ GO SPIKE! He raced over to me and ripped my bonds in half. “I so owe you a drink!” I blurted out, pushing myself upright. “And I’ll never complain about the shower again, promise!”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Spike grinned, moving over to help Charles.

I glanced across the lobby: Sam still looked unconscious. But with that blood flowing in her veins we had no way to effect a more permanent incapacitation, and no way of knowing when she might wake up. This sucked.

We had to get out of here. I raced to the elevator and slammed the down button. “Spike!” I yelled over my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s _go.”_

“_FRED!_ NO!” I frowned, looking over my shoulder. Charles was staggering to his feet but that was kind of secondary to the fact that Spike was charging at me like a madman, panicked look his eyes. Why was he-

He collided with me and shoved me as hard as he could, sending me rolling away along the floor, far from the elevators. I heard a distant sounding crunch, and a yell of pain that I realised was _mine_. My leg was on fire. I think it was broken. Spike had broken my leg! What was he playing-

_Ping._

A wave of compressed air and fire roared out of the lift like the mouth of hell itself had opened. Right where I’d been standing. Right where Spike was. He was lifted off the floor and tossed all the way across the lobby, smashing through the far wall. The floor above collapsed, partially burying him in a mountain of rubble. “SPIKE!” I yelled, horror mounting inside me. The elevator had been trapped. But why had she done that, and how had Spike known to-

Sam was up, and moving _very_ quickly for someone who’d supposedly been unconscious a moment ago. In a second, she was at Spike’s side, one hand placed over his forehead. He mumbled something and shifted, eyes closed. My gut twisted: his memories were gone. Spike was out of the fight.

Sam spun around to face towards me, gaze locking on mine. Before my eyes, every wound she’d accumulated from Spike - a litany of bruises, gashes, cuts, and scrapes - closed and healed. She began running towards me. “Who’d have thought one offhand comment to Spike would come in so handy?” She smiled sweetly, pounding towards me like a freight train. I tried to push myself upright, but a fresh wave of pain spiked in my leg and I slumped back down. Dammit. In the absence of mobility… I fumbled to draw Wesley’s pistol and aimed at her as best I could, channelling years of shooting lessons with cousins and uncles. I breathed out and started to fire.

Every single shot hit. And they all did nothing. Except make holes in her cardigan, but I didn’t really count that as a win. I began to reload. Charles ran at Sam again. Sam rolled her eyes disdainfully and lifted one hand, before an unearthly shriek cut across the room, that made me clamp my hands to my ears and cower on the floor. Lorne! He was racing out of one of the corridors, screaming at the top of his lungs, aiming a crossbow at Sam. He fired, but the bolt bounced harmlessly off the back of her neck. She turned to face him, pointed an open hand at him, her other hand at Charles (also staggering under the effect of the scream) and clenched her fist. 

Lorne and Charles crumpled to the floor in unison. NO! She hadn’t… she couldn’t have… they weren’t-

“Oxygen sucked out of their lungs and the air around them to render them unconscious.” Sam’s voice was cold and utterly emotionless. She twisted her wrists and their limp bodies flew through the air towards her, coming to a stop at arm’s length. She tapped each lightly on the forehead, then marched onwards. They fell to the ground behind her, discarded. “And memories rewritten. _God_ you are making me work much too hard.”

“Oh, sorry. My bad.” I shot her again, emptying an entire magazine into her chest. To no effect. 

Sam pursed her lips at me, tilting her head quizzically. “I don’t know whether to be more insulted that you shot me, or that you thought it might - in some way - be able to hurt me.”

“The first one. That’s where the malice was.”

“Fair point.” Sam nodded. “Still look on the bright side, one of your legs is already broken, so you’re through the worst of it.” I realised what she was going to do a second before an invisible force threw me into the wall, and I felt a horribly familiar, intense pain flare up in my other leg. I bit down on my hand. I would _not_ scream. Not for her. Not ever.

“You should be happy, you know. You put up a pretty good fight, Fred. For a human, that is.” Sam flipped her hair over one shoulder and smiled insincerely at me. “Tell me, Fred - how does it feel not to be the smartest one in the room any more?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. Then I caught a glimpse of who was behind her and grinned. “You tell me.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

Lorne, Gunn, and Spike unconscious. Presumably with rewritten memories. Fred crumpled on the floor by the lifts - the sight flooded me with a gloriously intense anger, the perfect kind to draw powerful magic from - and Sam standing in front of her. Apparently gloating. No sign of Angel. It was up to me, then.

No pressure. I focused my will, and threw a fireball at Sam. Caught by surprise, she couldn’t block, and was tossed away from Fred (towards Angel’s office) by the force of the blast. I marched after her, marshalling what magic I possessed, and threw a second fireball at Sam before she’d even hit the floor.

The second and third fireballs struck true, sending her further and further away from the lifts. She caught the fourth and fifth in her hands, rising back to her feet. She cast me a pleading look. “Wesley, please don’t be confrontational. You’re going to make this a lot harder on yourself. I don’t _want_ to hurt you.”

“I’m afraid the feeling is no longer exactly mutual.” I reached into my coat and withdrew my shotgun from the right side, aiming and firing in less than a second. Sam launched both my fireballs forward to explode in midair, vaporising the buckshot midair. That had been expected. I dropped the shotgun (it had served its purpose) and thrust both hands forward, still closing the distance. I shaped the residual flames into a wave that I sent back in Sam’s direction, but the wave parted like the red sea, and Sam strode through, lightning crackling in her hands. She looked like a strange cross between Emperor Palpatine and Moses as she fired a blast of lightning at me.

I muttered a counterspell under my breath, deflecting the lighting with my left hand so it discharged harmlessly into the wall. I advanced forwards, grimacing at the blistering pain beginning to develop in my left hand. I sent a blast of flames at her from my right hand, which looked incredibly impressive until they guttered out a few feet in front of her.

We stood perhaps two metres apart. Lightning (designed to incapacitate, not kill) crackling out of her right hand and being deflected by my left, a stream of flames gushing eagerly from my right hand and vanishing into nothing before they even reached her. “You can’t beat me, Wesley.” Sam’s eyes were locked on mine. “Even if your magic could reach me, I’m nigh invulnerable. Wesley, _please._ Surrender. I don’t want to do this if I don’t have to.”

I narrowed my eyes and intensified the flames. Sam’s gaze hardened almost imperceptibly and metal chains began to materialise above her right hand, readying to launch at me. Now or never. Time for surprise number 1.

I cut off the flames, plunged my right hand into the left side of my jacket, and produced the Staff of Devosynn. “Atistrata!” I yelled. The space between me and Sam immediately _blurred_, shuddering under the weight of the staff’s power. It had been powerful enough in my Father’s hands to affect a champion of the Powers that Be, a vampire with a soul. In mine, it might just work on her.

Sam reeled away from the staff, lightning instantly cutting off and chains clattering to the floor, forgotten. Both hands shot up in front of her, a glowing circular shield of green light materialising between her and the staff. Too late to dodge the whole effect though: she’d been exposed to the staff for perhaps a half second, and it showed. Her movements were slightly sluggish, her eyes less fully focused than before, and her magic was _weaker._ Magic was, fundamentally, about imposing your will on the world.

Any damage done to your willpower compromised magical strength. I pressed my advantage, walking towards her as she began to back up, her shield visibly wavering under the assault of the staff. Sam abruptly lunged sideways, ducking slightly out of the way of the staff’s effect, and flattened one palm against the air in my direction. Ah. A telekinetic blast aimed at knocking the staff from my hand. Very clever.

I mimicked her gesture, and the air between us _rippled_ as the blasts met. And cancelled out. Sam looked up at me, eyes widening in shock. I brought the staff back round to face her and her shield - supported by just one hand now - shattered in an instant. She slumped to one knee as the staff affected her, joining both hands to form another shield a half-second later. Unfortunately, removing the hand generating her telekinetic force exposed her to my own blast (which I had maintained) causing her to slide back along the floor until her back was against the wall. She glared up at me, and I could see the gears turning as she tried to think of a way to stop me.

Couldn’t have that. Surprise number two. I flexed my wrist, summoning the unbreakable chains - forged by Fred for this exact purpose so long ago, newly augmented with glyphs allowing only me to open and close the cuffs - and sending them flying at her. Sam jerked her chin sideways, causing one end of the chains to veer off course. The other cuff secured itself firmly around her left wrist. I focused and the other end of the chain dived into the floor with the force of a pile driver, moving below and behind Sam. 

The sweat began to bead on Sam’s face as slowly, inexorably, her left hand was dragged away from its position. Its position supporting her shield against the Staff. Which began flickering and wavering more and more for every half inch I managed to drag her hand away from it. The combination of her sapped willpower, the staff’s assault, my own telekinetic strength, and one set of unbreakable chains were working.

It was actually _working_. I felt a tiny spark of hope: I was _doing something right._ “Give up, Sam.” I pleaded. “It’s over. Surrender! You can still do some good! What you know, your skills… turn them against the Partners! Help us!”

Sam’s eyes flicked around the room. “It’s _never_ over.” Her eyes narrowed, and thrust her right hand in my direction. I ducked sideways as a spear materialised out of midair, sailing from the tips of her fingers and vanishing somewhere behind me. She’d missed by a mile. Even my dodging had been superfluous.

Sam was hit _again_ by the Staff (How the hell was she still resisting?) and managed to raise her weakest shield yet. It would collapse within moments. “You missed.” I set my jaw.

“I didn’t.” Sam smiled.

It had gone behind me, which meant-

I abandoned my focus on the chains and I threw a fireball at Sam instead. Her shield collapsed and she was thrown through the wall she’d been pinned against, slumping to the floor inside our office. I spun around.

“NO!” I screamed. 

_Fred!_

The spear had gone straight through her chest. And out the other side. Then someway into the wall behind her. She was staring down at herself, an expression of absolute shock on her face. 

The slightest flicker of uncertainty passed over her face.

Then fear.

Then pain.

Fred screamed. 

It was the worst thing I’d ever heard.

Not a scream of fear.

Of agony.

That wound… it was… it was mortal.

Fred couldn’t possibly survive. She was going to… she would… she was about to…

I let out a roar of rage, anguish, despair, _hatred_ and launched myself after Sam. I was going to kill her, and then I had to get to Fred, had to… had to…

I would do _something_, I would, I would find a way to… to…

I reached Sam - rising to one knee - and blasted her with the staff again. She winced as the blast hit her shield, jaw working like she was trying to speak. NO. She did _not_ get to speak! _Not one more bloody word! Not one syllable! NOT ONE ROTTEN HEARTBEAT!_

I funnelled my rage into the magic, summoning the largest fireball I’d ever called upon - easily a metre in diameter - into being above Sam. It was a blazing red, like a miniature sun and I knew, in her weakened state, that this would reduce her to ashes. I closed my fist-

“I can save her.” Sam spat blood on the floor, looking up at me defiantly.

I stared at her, all thoughts of revenge instantly forgotten.

“I can save Fred.” Sam grimaced, barrier flickering. “I have enough magic in me to heal any wound. She’s got seconds to live, but if I get there, she’ll be good as new.”

She wasn’t lying. She had that power, beyond any doubt. I didn’t, I’d never learned healing magic,didn’t have the knack for it, but Sam… yes. _Yes!_ “HEAL HER OR I’LL _KILL YOU!”_ I bellowed jerking my free hand in Fred’s direction. The fireball seemed to blaze a little brighter above Sam in response, tiny tendrils of flame licking out of it like miniature solar flares.

“Drop the staff.” Sam looked up at me, expression strained, but eyes utterly calculating. “It’s a very nasty wound, Wesley. Drop it or she’ll die.”  
_“SO WILL YOU!”_  


“Probably. Both of us dead. That what you want?” Sam panted, sweat running down her forehead. “Drop the staff. I’ve got time. Fred doesn’t. Tick tock.”

Sam would. She’d wait. Fred might only have seconds to live. I had no choice. Sam wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t be threatened. She knew. She knew I’d make the trade, and make it in a heartbeat. Anything to save Fred.

  
“Wes! _No!”_ I heard Fred yell from behind me. She was choked. Choking on her own blood. “I’ll die anyway! She’ll rewrite my memories, and… and then she’ll have you in her clutches again! It doesn’t matter, I… I don’t matter! Finish her! _Be free!”_

I looked at Fred. Her expression was pleading. Pained. Desperate. She wanted me to be free of Sam. Even if it meant her own life would be shortened. This was what she wanted, I could see it. More than anything.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, and dropped the staff. It clattered to the floor of the office, beam sputtering out.

Sam was on her feet in an instant, presenting her wrist to me. “Chains off.” She instructed. “Now.”

I snapped my fingers, and the cuffs came off her. A heartbeat later, the cuffs were locked in place around my wrists, and the chains had bound me head to toe. Sam sprinted across the room, crooking one finger at me as she went. I was dragged along the floor behind her, right over to Fred.

Sam bent down in front of her and murmured something inaudible, waving one hand over Fred. The spear vanished into thin air, and in the space of a second, any sign it was ever impaled through Fred was gone. I wept tears of relief. Sam snapped her fingers and stood up. Fred’s legs straightened themselves out, every sign of her injuries vanished.

Fred was alive. She was unharmed. She wasn’t dying. “Wesley…” She whispered, tears in her eyes. “I’m… I should have run, I should have got away, I’m… I’m so _sorry_."

“No,” I shook my head and forced a smile. “No, shh. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I should have stopped her quicker. I almost had her, I just… I was stupid and-”

“You saved my life.” Fred whispered. “At the cost of… of… _thank you._ I… I can’t believe… you’re so-” Fred’s mouth kept moving but I couldn’t hear her. Her eyes widened in shock and she turned to glare at Sam. I glared at Sam too.

“Very touching speech, but I’m afraid he’s _spoken for_.” Sam’s voice was ice cold.

“You will pay for this.” I spat out the words. “I swear it. I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you suffer. You’ll know what fear is, what loss is, I’ll make sure if it’s the last thing I do, that you regret _everything you did here today.”_

“_Wes_,” Sam had the gall to look _hurt_, crouching down beside me and folding her arms, mouth shifting into a pout. “Is that any way to talk to your future wife? Mother of your future children?”

My blood ran cold as ice. “No.” I shook my head. That couldn’t be. Sam… she… no, she- “No, you… you’re…”

“Someone who loves you very, very much.” Sam smiled at me fondly and my stomach _twisted._ I wanted to throw up as she gently cupped my cheek with her hand and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I did my best to recoil away. “I only want the best for you, Wes.”

“I’ll find out eventually!” I growled. “I’ll figure out you were responsible, who you really are and… and…”

“No, you’ll _forget._ I’ll see to it. You’ll grieve for Fred.” Sam sighed. “And I’ll help you through it. We’re a team, remember? I’ll make sure you’re so very happy, so well taken care of.”

“You won’t have me. Not for long.” I glared at her. “Even if you manage this, I’ll die some day. Then I’ll get my memories back. I’ll bee elsewhere, be with Fred, far from you, far from-”

Sam giggled. “You really think I’m going to et a little thing like _death_ separate us?” She shook her head and smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry your handsome little head about it. I’m already preparing spells, rituals that will extend your life… _indefinitely_. We’ll never be apart again.”

I slumped to the floor. “No… you… you can’t.”

“But I can. And I will.” Sam caressed my cheek and I shuddered. “And, for the record? The magic duel? You acquitted yourself well. That was _fun_. We should do it more often. I’m incredibly worked up right now. I’ll have to drag you into a broom closest once I’ve cleaned up this place, blow off some steam. A _lot_ of steam.” She grinned.

“I wish you’d never been created.” The heavy, familiar feeling of utter defeat washed over me.

“You won’t for long.” Sam stood up, brushing herself off. “Okay. This will be painless.” She snapped her fingers and I felt a sudden emptiness in my lungs, saw a darkness at the edges of my vision, couldn’t even cry out.

I turned to look at Fred as the darkness swept in. She was so brave. And I couldn’t hear her voice, but I saw what she mouthed in my last seconds of consciousness.

_I love you._

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

Wesley slumped to the floor, eyes drifting closed. I fought desperately against the invisible force holding me in place, but couldn’t budge it. Not even an inch.

“Well, that’s taken care of.” Sam stood up, turning to face me.

“Why not rewrite his memories while you’re standing there?” I spat.

“Because I’ll need to take my time with it.” Sam shook her head sadly. “So much anger to strip away. Can’t take any risks, not between his paranoia and this being the afternoon of your… well, you know.”

Sam strolled over to me. Every wound Spike and Wesley had inflicted on her was gone. Not a scratch on her. She could have just come from a spa, rather than a battlefield. “Alright, guess we should get to it.” Sam walked up to me and stretched, eyeing me apprehensively. “For the record? Not a bad attempt. Any last words, Fred? Any requests?”

“As far as requests go, _burn in hell_. As for last words?” I paused. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I _win._”

“Excuse me?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“On two separate accounts, technically speaking.” I smiled. “First of all, on the moral victory side of things, Wesley loves _me_. Not you. And that’s going to bother you for the rest of your life.”

“He won’t love you for long.” Sam shot back.

I snorted. I had to keep talking. The longer I talked, the better. “You think me dying will make him forget all about me? Please. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Sam. What do you think death is going to do?”

“I can make him forget if I have to.” Sam shrugged. “Over time. A thousand minuscule deletions, simulating the natural course of you fading from his memory.”

“You probably _could_ do that.” I agreed. “But you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“You won’t get the chance.” I shrugged. “You’ve already lost.”

“Back to this, then.” Sam smiled indulgently. “How have I lost?”

“Account number two. Real lost. Definite loss. I’m not gonna die today, Sam. It’s over for you.”

“No, it’s not.” Sam gestured across the lobby. “I’ll have the damage repaired in fifteen seconds, and by the time Angel arrives back here tonight, you’ll be dead without his knowledge. Your friends have all been defeated. None of them were a match for me.”

“No they weren’t.” I admitted, resisting the urge to point out Wesley had totally kicked her ass (I’d _known_ he could do it!). “But you and me? We’re a match. We’re very alike, Sam. By design. We just love our big intricate puzzles, our problems. My death’s a problem you’ve been planning for a very long time, huh? Deliberately excusing yourself from the premises beforehand, so there’s no way you could have had time to orchestrate anything. Wesley as your perfect alibi and character witness. Making sure my friends wouldn’t be equipped to fight you no matter what. Removing the only thing that could stop you from the board by getting rid of Angel.And leaving me with no way to contact him. I bet even if he wanted to answer his phone, you blocked the line.”

“Obviously I blocked his phone.” I took savage delight in the uneasiness beginning to filter into her expression. “Where are you going with-”

“Great plan.” I nodded approvingly. “Masterpiece, really. _But_. But. Like every great plan, every puzzles, every scientific theorem, there’s a problem. Those unknown unknowns. The randoms. The tiny little things you don’t even know that you don’t know about, that come along to screw up your plan. I had one of those, as luck would have it.”

“But… but I can erase your memory!” Sam frowned, hand coming out to rest on my. cheek. “Right now! There’s nothing to stop me.”

“Absolutely right.” I agreed. “Never could have stopped you doing that. Didn’t need to. Because, as luck would have it, I had a way to contact Angel. A way you could never have possibly known about, because only I knew about it. Something I built on an offhand comment.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred - The First night at Wolfram and Hart**

“Wesley thanking his lucky stars.” I scowled, talking to nobody in particular. I wasn’t crazy! I just… I was just venting my frustrations verbally. “Please. For what? A deputy who sleeps on the job and makes good tea? Sounds more like secretary material to me! And what sort of stupid name is Sam? Go by _Samantha_, that’s what you’re called, _Sam_ just sounds _stupid_.” 

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and stepped back from the worktop to survey my handiwork. The result of me productively venting my frustrations. I’d said I was gonna go home, but… well. I don’t know. I just felt on edge all of a sudden. I hadn’t wanted to go home and try to sleep. Besides, who knew when Angel might head out next?

When he did, I wanted to have that upgraded jacket ready for him. “Okay, let’s test you out. First modification: tracker proof.” I took one of Wolfram and Hart’s tracking devices, placed it inside the jacket, and walked over to the computer: no reading detected from the tracker. Ha! Go specially customised anti-tracker lining! No more alley welcomes from Wolfram and Hart.

“Modification numero two: bullet / wooden stakeproof!” I hung the jacket up on the coat-hook and raised the pistol I’d borrowed from a member of security (who’d looked at me insultingly dubiously when I’d given ‘science’ as the reason I needed his sidearm - it might have other uses though. Maybe I could use it to get Miss Lucky Stars to back off…) and unloaded the clip into the jacket. A collection of flattened bullets fell to the floor in front of the jacket. I punched the air and grinned victoriously: go science!

“And modification three: integrated communications device!” Well. ‘Integrated communications device’ was basically just a fancy way to say a stripped down satellite phone meticulously disassembled and inserted into the massive collar of the thing. I dialled the number on my phone, and the connection picked up immediately (all incoming calls were automatically accepted, as there were no buttons. I made a mental note to ensure the number was taken off telemarketing lists) and I spoke into the phone. “Testing? One two three?”

My voice came out of the collar. I sounded slightly tinny. Hmm. It would have to do. “Perfect for when you forget your phone like you always do.” I muttered. I resolved to use it for emergencies only. Otherwise Angel would probably demand I take it out.

“And modification four: keyring.” I opened up the inside pocket, and tugged on the ring of keys - connected to an extendable plastic string woven partially into the jacket’s lining - pulling them out of the pocket. “One for Charles’ apartment, Lorne’s place, Wesley’s place, and my home sweet home.” I let go of the keys and they vanished back into the pocket.

I smiled and stretched: job done! One super awesome coat, ready to leave on Angel’s office chair right where I’d borrowed it from. He’d never even notice it had been gone! I hummed to myself contentedly as I waltzed out of the lab.

I bet _she_ hadn’t done anything this productive and useful tonight.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“Angel had complained about your guys tracking him as soon as he got into the office.” I explained. “I suggested some modifications and then made them that night, partially to distract myself after you were annoying me. How’s _that_ for irony?”

“You’ve told Angel.” Sam whispered.

I smiled. “Big time.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred - Before they Agreed to Split Up**

_“You’ve reached Angel. If you’re evil, call my office. If you’re good, leave a message.”_

Wesley’s face showed the same panic that was twisting in my gut. I had to think, I had to _think_, that was what I was good at, there had to be a way, a way to contact him, nothing else mattered, if I could just speak to him then…

“What do we do now?” Wesley looked at me, desperation in his eyes. He didn’t want to lose me. That made me feel all fuzzy. Like I was wrapped in something wooly, like a jumper or a coat.

Wait. Coat. Angel’s jacket, there was something, something about it…

“His jacket!” I blurted out, smile bursting onto my face as I began dialling the satellite phone number. “Wes, Angel took his jacket with him, right?”

“He did, he takes it everywhere. Always.” Wesley frowned. “Fred, how does that-”

“I put a satellite phone in his jacket! In the lining!” I beamed at him. “God, I’m _so good!_”

“Yes!” Wesley smiled too, eyes lighting. “God, you’re _amazing._”

“I also bulletproofed it.” The phone was ringing, so why not brag a little? “And put in anti-tracker capability. And attached spare keys. The last one just seemed… convenient, I don’t know, I-”

Wesley closed the distance and kissed me passionately. Oh.

Wow.

He drew back slightly. “Genius.” He purred, looking at me like… like I…

My stomach went all funny. In a good way.

The line connected. “Angel?” I looked down at the phone.

“_Fred?”_ Angel sounded shocked. “Is that… where are you?”

“In the office. Near my lab. Like, a five minute walk.” I cut myself off, looking at Wesley apologetically. He didn’t seem to mind. He was still smiling, in fact. I kind of wish he’d stopped doing that. It was making me feel all desirable and inclining me to do lots of silly things that would greatly increase the risk of me dying (but would be so, _so_, worth it in the moment).

“How… am I… hearing you?”

“I put a satellite phone in your jacket, no time to explain, you should really just answer your phone.” I frowned. “And what are you doing out of the office anyway? We have an _emergency!”_

“I’m… I’m brooding!” Angel yelled defensively. I could have sworn I heard the sound of applause in the background and frowned, looking up at Wesley.

_Hockey._ He mouthed, rolling his eyes. 

“Ok, listen, I’m gonna pass you over to Wesley. Listen up, buster.” I passed the phone to Wesley, who held it between us.

“Angel? Are you hearing me?” Wesley’s tone was clipped, cool, calm, and the very essence of professionalism. It was kind of a turn-on. Just a little.

Focus!

“Yeah, what’s the emergency?”

“Sam’s evil.” Wesley paused, presumably for emphasis. “She tricked us. She’s been in on the Partners’ plans from the start. She’s also super-strong, nigh invulnerable, psychotic, a consummate deceiver, and a powerful sorceress. She’s already rewritten our memories several times to maintain her cover.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, _would you Angel?_” I cut in, making my voice sound as meaningful as I could.

“Uh…”

“Like say, something in a contract? Something you signed giving Wolfram and Hart explicit permission to screw with our memories?” God, I wish I’d included a video function. I wanted him to see how pissed off I was.

“I… I can explain. There’s actually a really good reason for-”

“It can wait.” Wesley cut back in, shooting me an apologetic look. I waved him off: he was right. Time was of the essence. “The same contract also specifies that you are _immune_ to her hijinks. We also know that - since Sam was created specifically to deal with our presence at Wolfram and Hart - the Partners consider you more valuable than her.”

“We need you to get in touch with them, or someone who’s directly in touch with them, and cut a deal.” I carried on, Wesley falling silent to let me take over. “Get them to sell her out, give you a weapon to use against her, I don’t know! You need to figure out a way to neutralise her, and get here immediately!”

“How long do I have?” His voice was steady. I could hear him running.

“Not long.” I grimaced: I’d lost count of the exact time. This was what I got for not wearing a watch! “But, umm, she’s gonna have me killed in under three hours so _really soon_ would be ideal.”

“On it. Don’t worry Fred, I’ll figure something out.”

“If you don’t hear from me or Wes, assume we’re still stuck in Wolfram and Hart. And remember, if we say anything good about Sam we’ve been brainwashed! And if I’m not there, call me, and keep me away from roads and any potential ‘accidents’! Be fast!” I hung up the phone.

“We need to delay Sam as long as we can.” Wesley spoke up. “That’s the game now. Run her in circles, keep her off balance, delay, delay, delay, until Angel shows up.”

“And if we can beat her in the course of that, so much the better. But the goal is survival, and wasting her time.” I swallowed. “And no matter what happens now, Angel knows. So Sam’s plans have failed.”

“Take this.” Wesley handed me his pistol. “Might slow her down.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, then grimaced. He wasn’t gonna take this well.

Not even a little bit. But it was our best chance. I looked at him.

“We have to split up.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Angel**

I sprinted out of the hotel suite bedroom (I’d wanted to relax somewhere other than myWolfram and Hart apartment!) and skidded to a stop by the phone. “Thanks Cordy,” I murmured, dialling the number. “You really do always know best.”

This had to be it. The reason she’d given me that vision when she was… when we’d… before she left. A kiss, and a flash: glowing numbers hovering in the darkness. A phone number. This must be somebody, somebody who could help Fred.

The phone rang once.

“Marcus Hamilton, speaking. Who is this?”

“Angel.” I growled. Judging by the sudden intake of breath, he knew who I was, and he was afraid. Wolfram and Hart. Definitely. Perfect. “We need to discuss a few things…”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“So once that was done, all I had to do was delay you.” I smirked. “Waste your time. Run as far as I could, fight as long as we could, talk and delay as much as possible to drag this whole shebang out. But even that was a little unnecessary. Just a safety net to maximise my chances of survival. But now? Time’s up.”

“No. No, not yet.” Sam muttered, standing up, brushing her hair behind her shoulders. “No! I… I just need to think. I can think of a way out of this, I always do, there’s gotta be a way, I just… ten minutes. Five minutes, and I’ll have figured this out. You’ll see. I’ll do it. It’ll be easy.”

“You’ve got five seconds.” I nodded to my left. The arrow above the elevator had just lit up.

_Ping._

I’d never been happier to see Angel than I had right now. He marched out of the lift, flanked by a broad-shouldered man in a grey suit and tie, carrying a briefcase. Angel. And his backup. Angel moved immediately to position himself between me and Sam, crouching down next to me. “You okay?” He said gently.

“All good.” I forced a smile. “I… I mean, I am now, you should have seen me five minutes ago, gosh, two broken legs and… and a spear and…” I was crying.

God, I was so stupid. What was wrong with-

“Hey. You’re okay. You’ve been through a lot.” Angel put one hand on my shoulder and smiled his goofy smile. “I got you. Can you stand?”

“There’s an invisible force stopping me.” I explained.

“Oh, not anymore.” The suited man looked at me over his shoulder and smiled a bland, corporate smile. “That’s all taken care of. You can stand up. Lovely to meet you, Dr Burkle. Marcus. Hamilton.” He had dead eyes. Almost dead. Eyes that looked like ninety-nine days out of a hundred, they’d be dead. But right now?

They looked engaged. Interested. Alive. Gloating. That worried me. “Charmed.” I managed, and stood up, dusting myself off. God, I was a mess. Blood all over me. And sand, probably from the Orlon window. Oops. Focus.

Angel had turned around, and taken a few steps forwards until he was to the right of Hamilton. Icrouched down to check Wesley’s pulse (very steady!) then moved up to stand on Angel’s right side, and folded my arms.

Sam was standing perhaps two metres in front of us, eyes jumping between Hamilton and Angel. She looked afraid. It was a new look on her. I kinda liked it.

“Sam.” Angel folded his arms. “It’s time to talk about your performance.”

“In a high-level kind of way.” Hamilton added.

“Angel, I… I can explain.” Sam took a step forward, eyes going wide. Angel snorted. “Angel, I was coerced. The Partners, screaming at me in my head, all day and all night, torturing me if I did _one thing_ they didn’t want me to do-”

“If only they _had_ been doing that, you might have turned out better.” Hamilton interrupted, shaking his head. “Torture did me a world of good in my formative years. I always told them you needed a firmer touch.”

“You can’t trust anything he’s told you.” Sam pleaded. I snorted. “He’s the worst of the Partners’ servants, the most wicked, treacherous-”

“Sister, I’m touched.” Hamilton smiled icily.

“Sam.” Angel raised a hand. She stopped talking. Angel smiled. “You’re fired.”

“You’ve been let go.” Hamilton added, undoing the clasps on his briefcase.

“Your career is going in a new direction.” Angel added.

“Downwards probably.” I joined in, relishing it just a little bit. Did that make me a bad person?

I hoped not. Payback. So good.

“Oh, most definitely. All the way down.” Hamilton opened the briefcase, retrieved a single sheet of paper, marched forwards, and pressed it to Sam’s chest. She grabbed it and looked at it numbly.

“Those are your papers of dismissal.” Hamilton moved his arm up to look at his watch. “Yourcontractually mandated four-minute notice period begins now.”

“You can’t do this to me.” Sam dropped the paper, eyes flashing. Any pretence of innocence had fled now, her hands curling into fists. “When the Partners hear of this-”

“The Partners _have_ heard of this.” Hamilton smirked. “From Mr Angel, here. He uncovered your little ruse, and was most displeased. Allow me to reassure you, Angel, that the Partners share your, frankly righteous, indignation at Miss Jennings.”

“I’m sure they do.” Angel muttered.

“Angel cut a deal with us.” Hamilton sealed his briefcase, placing it on the floor beside him. “He gave us… well. Everything we want. Something much more valuable than you could ever give us. And all he wanted was for us… to get rid of you.”

“I believe my exact words were, drag her back to the fires of hell where she belongs.” Angel cut in.

“Yes, and trust me, I intend to follow those instructions both to the letter, and in spirit.” Hamilton beamed. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to do this for a _long_ time. Samantha has always been sloppy, and a little too emotionally invested for my liking.”

“And there were other requests.” Angel said pointedly.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Hamilton looked at me and smiled. “Any use of magic on the part of Miss Jennings automatically terminates her notice period, and results in the immediate expiration of her employment on this plane of existence. You’re perfectly safe. Her enhanced strength and durability have also been suspended for the remainder of her term here, and all her previous memory alterations and deletions have been rectified.”

“Spike!” I blurted, looking over at the pile of rubble he’d ended up in. “He’s hurt!”

Hamilton chuckled. “With the blood he drank? It would take a rocket-powered bull elephant to hurt him. But we’ve also healed the superficial wounds he did take, as well as those of your other coworkers.”

I frowned suspiciously. “You’re being very helpful.”

Hamilton chuckled. “We’ve been… well compensated.”

“Angel?” I turned to look at him, feeling a sick feeling creeping into my stomach. “What’s the catch? What did you give them?”

“Nothing that matters.” Angel said firmly. “Nothing that matters anywhere near as much as you. And nothing that will affect you, either.”

“Angel!” Sam was crossing the space between us, gaze fixed on him, eyes bright. “You can stop this.”

“I started this. Not keen to stop right before the main event.” Angel stared back evenly. “Kinda looking forward to the fireworks.”

“Me too. Love fireworks. Anyone got popcorn?” I couldn’t resist.

“I’m also looking forward to this, in a professional way.” Hamilton added. “One-hundred and thirty-five seconds left on your notice period, incidentally.”

“As CEO of this branch of Wolfram and Hart, you can overrule him with a sentence, cancel my termination, and recommence my employment.” Sam looked at Angel, expression calculating. As if.

“No chance.” Angel replied. Too right! 

“Save my life, and my allegiance will be yours.” Sam looked Angel dead in the eye. “Do you understand the implications of that?”

“Your allegiance hasn’t really worked out so great for us these past couple months, weirdly enough.” I pointed out. There was _no way _Angel would save her. What could she possibly offer?

“I was working for the Partners these last few months. I was loyal to _them_.” A hint of bitterness in her voice, a glare at Marcus. “They’ve betrayed me. Save me, and I will be _your_ loyal servant.”

“Look at what I can do!” Sam gestured around the room. “The merest taste of my power. Alone, unaided, and having already been _thrown out a twentieth-floor window_, I took down your entire team. There’s more evil in the world than you know, Angel: you’ll _need_ power in your corner. Real power. And I’ve got lots of that.”

“You tell me what you want, and I will make it so. You want to be human, but with vampire-level strength, so you don’t have to give it up like four years ago? Done.” A muscle in Angel’s jaw twitched.

“You want the Senior Partners’ deepest, darkest secrets?” Sam smiled invitingly. “I can hand them over. You don’t even know what the Partners are planning. You don’t even know about the Circle of the Black Thorn. But I do.”

Next to Angel, Hamilton suddenly went stiff as a board, glaring at Sam hatefully, knuckles whitening on the handle of his briefcase.

“Or maybe you just want my blood?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “One drop of it a day, and you’ll be more powerful than any vampire’s ever been. Drink more, regularly, going forwards? You’ll be invincible. And that’s without considering that from now on I’ll be at your back in every fight, wherever you want me. I can heal your friends, destroy your enemies, save lives. I’ll be a tool in your hands, Angel, to wield as you see fit.”

Sam’s expression hardened. “I’ve dealt with problems your team didn’t even know exist, greased the wheels of your success. I nipped Eve’s revenge plan in the bud. I destroyed the organisation who sent those cyborgs to enslave you. I eliminated the cult of Illyria, who’d been ready to resurrect an Old One. And remember Knox?”

Sam had done all that? No. Not buying it. There was an ulterior motive, she hadn’t been trying to help us. And of course I remembered Knox, he’d been the kind of dorky, kind of cute guy who’d given me the tour on the first day, who the Senior Partners had…

Sam! Sam had probably liquified him! That total-

Sam sneered. “That oh-so-cute scientist you were fawning over during your tour, Fred? He was a psychopath, high priest of Illyria. He’d already sacrificed multiple women he deemed ‘perfect’ to the glory of his god. You were just his type. You would have been next. And he was taking calendula on the sly too, to get past Lorne. You wouldn’t have seen him coming. I saved your life.”

Oh. He’d been… huh. I guess she’d kinda done me a favour there. But she’d tried to kill me too! And there was no way Knox would have gotten to me. Nuh uh. I was smarter than that. And I had Wesley looking out for me. Knox wouldn’t have stood a damn chance.

“Angel. You _need_ me.” Sam spread her arms wide, and smiled winningly. “It’s a simple deal. All you have to do is not let him kill me, and I’ll give you everything.”

Angel grimaced. Surely he wasn’t… but it made sense. Everything she’d said was true, in a twisted kind of way. And everything she could do for Angel… make him human again…

“Sam, I’m _done_ making deals with evil.” Angel’s voice was firm. I stared at him in shock. “And I would _never_ have made one with you. You manipulated Wesley. You tried to kill Fred. So, when you get to hell? Tell the Partners I’m grateful to you, for reminding me to get the hell out of this place while I still have my soul.”

I saw the hope fade out of her as Angel finished speaking. Sam slumped slightly, eyes closing. She drew a shuddering breath. I readied myself to grab Angel and run: she could still be dangerous, even now, and I had to make sure she didn’t-

Sam opened her eyes and sprinted sideways, dashing past me a split second too fast to grab, crouching down to grab Wesley’s hand.

Oh, no, _she didn’t!_

“Stay away from him!” I yelled, punching her as hard as I could in the face. She fell backwards away from Wesley onto the floor, one hand moving up to cover her nose. 

“Miss Jennings, you just used magic.” Hamilton sounded surprised. “Your notice period has thus automatically expired.”

My blood ran cold, I kept my eyes on Sam, making sure she wouldn’t try anything. “What did she do?”

“No idea.” I heard the sound of a briefcase opening behind me. “I don’t really care, to be honest.”

“What did you do to him?” I demanded, glaring at Sam. “Answer me!”

Sam moved her hand away from her face, glaring up at me defiantly. A slight trickle of blood was dripping out of her nose. I hadn’t thought I’d hit her _that_ hard. “None of your business.” She said coldly. “In fact…” She trailed off, getting to her feet.

The flow of blood from her nose was getting faster. She clamped one hand to the bridge of her nose, squeezing it tight. The blood flow sped up, a still relatively slow but steady stream of blood escaping both nostrils. The first drops slid off her face.

And floated mid-air, then began drifting in my direction like dust mites. I turned to look behind me. Hamilton was standing beside Angel, bland smile on his face, gleam in his eyes, briefcase open in his hands. Inside…

It was a void of stars. Or a dark pit without end. Or a hole in the world. Or all those things, and none of them. The blood was being sucked in, slowly steadily. Hamilton caught my look. “Much too valuable to go to waste.” He explained, as calmly as if he was discussing leftover food.

I turned back to face Sam. She let go of her nose and swallowed, holding out her hand in front of her. A few little drops of blood peeled off her fingertips, and joined the rest. She was noticeably paler than she had been a moment ago.

“What was given… taken away.” Sam huffed a tiny, scared laugh, swaying where she stood. “That… that was a lot funnier… when it was an inside joke…”

She fell to her knees, grimacing. I realised with horror that tiny drops of blood were emerging from her ears. From underneath her clothes. Oozing every few seconds from patches of skin. I couldn’t look away. “Guess… I got… what I deserved.” Sam murmured, then sprawled onto her side. She blinked very slowly. “Fred…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

I moved closer. Angel’s voice from behind me. “Fred, don’t.”

I ignored him. I bent down beside her. “Sam?” I said quietly.

Her eyelids were fluttering. Barely open. Then they snapped wide open, and her emerald eyes looked at mine with single-minded focus. 

“Take care… of Wesley.” She whispered. “Please. _Please._”

“I… I will.” I shouldn’t feel bad. She’d… she’d tried to kill me. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her, shouldn’t feel melancholy.

But I did. “I promise.”

The tiniest relieved smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She blinked once. Twice.

Then never again. Her eyes were glassy. Empty.

I heard Hamilton close the briefcase behind me, and turned to face him. “The Partners will be glad to have this back.” He smiled cheerfully, patting the side of the briefcase. “Great work today, team.” My skin crawled unpleasantly.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten the last part of our agreement.” Angel said icily to Hamilton. There was _more?_

“Of course not. Dr Burkle.” Hamilton walked up to me and smiled politely. I knew that smile. It was the smile of a snake delivering bad news. I tensed. “Wolfram and Hart greatly appreciates your contribution. You have done marvellous work as head of Practical Science, and we wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavours.”

Wait a second. This sounded like-

“But unfortunately, with the economy being the way it is, we are scaling back our operations, and have been forced to let you go.” Hamilton smiled insincerely.

“Wait. So you mean-”

“You’re fired.” Hamilton said bluntly, apparently under the impression I hadn’t understand his corporate-speak. I _had_, I was just… confused. They were letting us go? Just like that?

What had Angel given them?

“You’re still technically in our employ until midnight, but feel free to leave a little earlier. Our treat. Here’s your pink slip.” He offered me it and I took it numbly. A pink slip. Huh. “If you could get the building in order before you leave, we would greatly appreciate it.”

“Err sure.” I was still in shock. I pinched my arm. Ow.

“If you wouldn’t mind telling your coworkers the bad news once they wake up, I’d appreciate it.” Marcus clasped his hands together.

“I can do that.” Angel offered, stepping forwards. Hamilton dutifully produced several more pink slips from his jacket and handed them over. 

“It has been an absolute pleasure working with both of you.” Hamilton smiled, making his way towards the lifts. 

“Wait!” I called out. Hamilton turned to face me and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What… what about…” I gestured in the direction of… of the body.

“Ah. I see. You said you would get the building in order.” Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “That _does _include taking out the trash.”

“Oh. So… she’s just…”

“Garbage, yes.” Hamilton nodded. “Does that clear things up?”

My mouth dropped open. I struggled for a second with a thousand things I wanted to say. In the end, I just nodded.

“Excellent.” He turned and left. I was _very_ glad to see the doors shut behind him.

“I’m so glad we’re getting out of here.” I said to Angel.

“Me too, Fred.” Angel nodded, expression grim. “Me too.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

I felt fine. Very well. Which, considering I’d been bound very tightly in unbreakable chains, and involved in a quite vicious magical duel, was highly suspicious. I felt very warm. Well-rested. Comfortable. I was lying in a bed, with only the lowest refreshing murmur of background noise. The subtle, telltale sound of a nearby human being. The sound of someone breathing in and out regularly. Occasionally adjusting their seating. I was reasonably sure it was a her, if only because the hand holding mine very tenderly was most definitely feminine. As well as supremely soft. I slowly opened one eye.

A softly lit hospital room. I was bundled up under the duvet - still, I was quite sure, wearing my regular clothes - and sitting in a chair next to me, one hand holding my own firmly, was Fred. As soon as I saw her, her face shifted from an expression of obvious concern to boundless relief. “Wes!” She smiled broadly, whole face lit up, voice full of excitement and relief.

I squinted suspiciously. “Is this heaven?” Fred’s face went dead calm.

She nodded solemnly.

I sagged against the pillow. “How did it happen?”

“Bees.”

“Bees?” I frowned. “How on earth did… oh, that’s just _not fair._” I tried to muster a sufficiently disapproving glare.

Which turned out to be completely impossible, because once Fred burst into a fit of giggling, impossibly wide smile on her face, I was powerless to do anything but smile at her. “I’m sorry!” She shook her head, still smiling. “I… I couldn’t resist!”

“I was asking for it.” I sighed. “Well. We’re still alive.”

“That we are.” Fred smiled. “We’re safe. And the doctors say you’re okay. Do you… feel okay?”

“Yes, very well.” I frowned, thinking back. That was odd. “Are you alright?”

“I am slightly better than.” Fred squeezed my hand.

I set my jaw. “Fred, I’m so-”

“Don’t.” Fred smiled playfully and leaned in, tapping me reproachfully on the chin. “Even _think_ about apologising.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yes you were.”

“I mean, yes.” I admitted. Because I’d failed her! “Obviously, because I-”

Fred’s free hand moved up to cover my mouth. God, how were her hands so soft? “There you go, being all apologetic. No apologies. Doctor’s orders.”

I frowned at her as she removed her hand. “You’re not a medical doctor.”

“I never said I was.” Fred shrugged. That was fair.

“I’m very confused.” I sat up a little straighter in bed. “What… what actually happened? After I passed out. Are my memories even accurate?”

“They are.” Fred grimaced, and tucked her hair behind her shoulders. “You caught most of it, I think. You missed… well, just the very end. I delayed Sam by slowly explaining how we’d got one over on her by contacting Angel. Which took just long enough for Angel to arrive, with backup from the Senior Partners…” Fred looked agonised.

I felt a heavy weight settle in my stomach. I swallowed and took a few moments to ready myself. “So… Sam… she’s-”

“Yeah.” Fred nodded. “They… they drained the blood right out of her, and left her… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, she was…” Everything to me. “She tried to kill you. She had to be stopped.”

“You cared about her.” Fred whispered, brown eyes soft and understanding. 

“I did.” I closed my eyes, the last pieces slotting into place. “Did Sam… by any chance… have an opportunity to touch me? After she knew what was going to happen to her.”

“She did.” Fred squeezed my hand. “I tried to stop her but she dashed right past me and… what did she do?”

“She gave me a dream.” I swallowed. “And I know it’s fake, she… she told me as much. That it was just a dream.”

“What… what did you dream of?” Fred squeezed my hand. “Unless… it’s too personal, or… or forget it, I shouldn’t have…”

I felt terrible pangs of hurt even thinking about it. But I had to tell someone. “Sam… Sam told me that she loved me. That she was sorry, for everything she’d done and… and sorry she didn’t have more time with me. And… and that I shouldn’t dwell on her, even for a heartbeat. She said she knew that would be too hard for me, so… so she was going to help me forget.”

“I’m so sorry, Wesley.” Fred squeezed my hand. “I… I can’t imagine what that was like. Do you know what she meant by… by help you forget?” She sounded nervous.

“The colour’s gone.” I said quietly. Fred frowned. “The sparks. Like… the nights we spent together here, before we were a couple. I remember them perfectly clearly. Everything we said and did, but… I know that at the time, there were sparks, fireworks, intimate moments, things that made my heart melt and gave me goosebumps. And those feelings are gone.”

“You remember clearly,” Fred said carefully. “But not vividly?”

“That’s a good way to put it.” I nodded. “I still… I still know how I feel about her, how I felt but it’s all… it’s less… real.”

“She mentioned that to me.” Fred said carefully. “After you passed out. Said she could… simulate the gradual process of forgetting someone after they…they… they’re gone.”

“It does feel a little like that.” I swallowed. My eyes felt damp. “This morning, I… I thought, I was _sure_ that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. Every day I had left. Sure that she was going to be the centre of my world, and… and now I know she deceived me at every turn, was in league with my enemies, planning to kill you…”

I felt choked up. I closed my eyes, feeling them watering. My voice cracked. “And now she’s _dead_.”

“Wes…” I felt Fred put one arm around my back and pull me into a comforting embrace. I sobbed, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. “It’s okay. Let it out. Keep breathing and just… I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.” I whispered. “_Thank you.”_ The fact she stayed…

It meant the world to me. Fred rubbed my back tenderly and squeezed me gently. I gradually brought myself under control. “Don’t even think about saying sorry.” Fred whispered, drawing back slightly once I’d got myself under control. “I mean it. I have a knife.”

I huffed a laugh, wiping tears away from one side of my face, reaching around to-

Fred’s hand came up and gently brushed the tear residue from my other side. Her expression held… held boundless affection. Infinite concern. Unconditional desire to help. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?” I managed to ask.

“Saved my life?” Fred smiled jokingly. “For a start. But there’s lots of other reasons.” I shook my head ruefully.

“Wesley…” Fred made deliberate eye contact. “Are you… are you gonna be okay to move in a couple of hours?”

“I can move right now.” I frowned. “Why? Please… don’t tell me there’s a crisis already. I… I’m not sure I’m in the best condition to-”

“Not a work crisis. Actually, you’ll never have to deal with one of those ever again. Here at least.” Fred smiled. “We all got fired.”

I blinked several times, staring at her. She wasn’t joking. “Beg your pardon?”

“Part of Angel’s deal with the Senior Partners.” Fred’s smile got broader. “All of our contracts were terminated by the firm, without reasonable cause. No loopholes. No clauses. We’re stewards of the building for another… seven hours, technically. But I already got everything in order, so we can get the hell out of here for the last time anytime you want.”

“We’re free.” I whispered, unable to believe it. The world seemed to have shifted. Years of working here, in these offices, these corridors, consorting with darkness, that seemed to stretch ahead before me… all gone in a moment. “We’re really free.”

“Really really free.” Fred smiled. “Of this place, the evil, the moral compromise, the ungodly working hours, the demons, and did I mention the _evil?_ As soon as you’re ready to go. The others are waiting in the lobby for us, making sure nobody tries anything on the way out.”

“Right now seems good.” New strength entered my limbs and I threw off the duvet - thanking my lucky stars that I was still fully dressed - before rising to my feet. “Let’s blow this town.”

Fred giggled and stood up. “Sounds amazing.”

Then she hesitated. “What is it?” I asked softly. Something was bothering her. “Fred?”

“There’s one thing to take care of that I… I thought you’d want to… to do yourself.” Fred bit her lip nervously.

“You can tell me.” I smiled.

“Hamilton - the Partners’ envoy - he… he left Sam with us when he was… finished. I took you down to medical and Angel took _her_ down here too, and he left her body in a room to be… y’know, but… but one of the doctors checked up on her, not knowing anything else and… and…”

My heart stopped. The words leapt out. “Is she-”

“Her heart’s beating, Wes.” Fred looked up at me, eyes full of irrepressible remorse. A thousand different emotions warred for primacy. Fred continued, and the source of her remorse became clear. “But… there’s no brain activity. Not on any of our instruments. I tried, I even built a custom instrument to check… the lights are on, but she’s not in there. She’s on life support, dependent on it. I… I thought that you might want to… to say goodbye.”

I had a sudden moment of clarity. Energy surged into my limbs that made the euphoria of leaving Wolfram and Hart pale in comparison. “Of course she’s not in there. She’s somewhere else.”

“Pardon?” Fred frowned.  
“The Partners took their blood, their power, their influence out of her…” I murmured, thinking as I went. “She’s mortal now, completely mortal, probably doesn’t even have magic anymore, and obviously she went out with the blood, but a part of her must still be in…” 

It could be done. It was definitely possible. I couldn’t do it alone.

“Fred,” I looked her in the eye. She looked confused and afraid. “Do you trust me?”

Fred replied without a second’s hesitation. “With my life and soul.”

“We have Wolfram and Hart for another seven hours?”

“That’s right. Wes-”

My voice broke. I had no right to ask this. No right at all. But how could I not? 

“Fred, please help me save her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Still threads to wrap up and an epilogue to come, so watch this space.
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts, as always!


	18. Retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Investigations go their separate (and not-so-separate) ways.

**Angel**

I closed the car door and swallowed. “I’m gonna miss you.” I announced to the car, grateful that the hangar was empty apart from me. Say what you like about the deal with Wolfram and Hart, the carpool had been sweet. A dozen different sports cars, available whenever I felt like it. I’d taken two out of the building already (Gunn had driven the other one for me) when everybody else left, and parked them in discreet locations around the city. Hopefully they’d still be here when I got back to LA. 

If I ever came back.

I shouldn’t ever have gone to Wolfram and Hart. I shouldn’t have had so little faith in Connor that I thought erasing all his memories was the only option, even if it did work out for him. I should have at least made sure everyone else had the same immunity. Sure, it meant I would have taken some flak from them over my decision. But they’d have been in the loop, we’d have been equals. And Sam would _never_ have gotten as far as she did.

I’d never suspected a goddamn thing. Not for a second. She’d been all smiles and jokes, and Barry Manilow songs, and hell, if _Wes_ trusted her, who the hell was I to doubt her? But she’d been the sting in the tail. The Partners’ bid to make sure we stuck around forever. Get Wesley attached so he couldn’t leave, knowing we’d never abandon him. Kill Fred in a random accident that would make us bitter and rob us of our beating heart without having us blame Wolfram and Hart. It had almost worked too. Almost.

But the Partners had been too clever for their own good. Too many schemes. If not for Sam, we might still be at Wolfram and Hart right now. I would have never made the deal with the Partners that I’d made earlier today to save Fred from certain death, and everyone else from unwitting slavery. When I’d signed that ancient, dusty scrap of parchment with my own blood, Hamilton looking on eagerly, it had felt like a mistake.

But as soon as I saw my friends, told them what happened, saw the relief in their eyes when we cleared out, the _energy_ in them that had been missing for so long, saw Fred’s overwhelming joy in being alive and safe?

What was some stupid, mystical lottery prize worth against all that? To hell with Shanshu. And to hell with Sam’s offer to make me human again. I was done with prophecies. And with Wolfram and Hart.

I walked away from the car (forcing myself not to look back) and walked up the steps onto the private jet. The pilot and co-pilot were standing in the aisle, looking very nervous. “Hey.” I smiled, hefting my large bag (stocked with blood, weapons, spare jackets - including Fred’s tricked out version - and a mixtape). “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s just that… well… sir…” The younger looking one licked his lips nervously. “We heard from the office that… well… you’re leaving the company. In six hours.”

“Damn right.” I grinned. “Been a long time coming too, no offence.”

“None taken!” The female pilot said quickly. “It’s just that… I’m not sure we can ah… fly the plane and use all the fuel to take someone who won’t even be the boss by the time we land all the way to… it’s thousands of miles, the company will-”

I dropped the bag loudly on the floor and stepped forwards. Ah, unhelpful employees. Hopefully the last two I ever had to deal with. “Am I still your boss _now?”_ I growled.

They both nodded very fast, heads bobbing up and down like in whack-a-mole.

“And I know for a fact that this plane can get to Scotland in four and a half hours.” I paused. “So I’m still gonna be boss when we land, _right?”_

“Right again, sir.” The co-pilot squeaked.

I spread my arms and took a step back, making my smile faux friendly. “So what’s the problem?”

They exchanged a look. “No problem, sir.”

“None whatsoever.”

“We’ll get in the air right away.”

“That’s great.” I beamed, flopping down in a seat and putting my feet up on the mini table. “Faster we get there, the better. You get me there in under four hours, and my last act as CEO will be to quintuple your annual bonus.”

Their eyes widened. The pilot ran straight to the cockpit. The copilot lingered a moment. “What’s so important and time-sensitive in Scotland, sir?”

“I just want to talk to some old friends.” I smiled fondly, looking down at my phone’s call history: a one hour call with Buffy sat at the top of the list. Although Willow, Faith, Harris, and Giles had all been in attendance too. They’d sounded… happy, that I was back on the right side. 

“I miss ‘em.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Lorne**

I walked along the aisle, trailing my free hand over the tops of the nearest seats: a little frayed. Not perfect shape, but fixable. Like most of this place. But hey, nothing wrong with a fixer-up! They made the best projects. And friends, in my experience. Anybody too perfect? Bound to be an evil demigod, an evil manipulator, or a fan of Diana Warren. I could fix this place up.

I would.

“Gone awful quiet there, Lorne. What did you find?” Fred’s voice floated out of the phone. “Wait, no, don’t tell me: a signed copy of a Dixie chicks album. A karaoke machine. Johnny Depp?”

“I didn’t _find_ anything, Fredikins, I’m just thinking.” I chucked. “You’re not the only one allowed to do it!”

“Okay, okay…” She paused for a moment. “What do you think of the place? Does it suit your purposes?”

I turned to face the stage and pursed my lips. I pivoted a few times, imagining the perspective from different seats. From the stalls versus the royal and upper circles. And the boxes. I nodded, satisfied. “Yeah, this’ll do. This’ll do nicely. Good location, nice architecture, that hint of grandioseness necessary for class without so much as to be stuffy, the _perfect_ space for a little bar before the auditorium, and just enough of that certain je ne sais quoi.”

“Sounds perfect!” Fred gushed. “Well, I expect a box ticket when you get the show on the road!”

“You’ll have it.” I promised. “I’ll get one for Wes as well, shall I?”

“Obviously, for the whole team!” Fred replied. I waited for it to settle in. “Oh. I mean… that’s not… it’s not really necessary, I… I haven’t even seen him since… since the thing. The spell. After we left work, I mean, I saw him as we left but we didn’t talk, we just kind of… hovered, and then said goodbye on the pavement… awkwardly… I mean, he’s not gonna… I think it was pretty clear that he wanted to go off and find-”

I massaged my forehead and weighed the merits of travelling across the city to yell some sense into her. “Fred. Fredikins. Honey bun. I can quite literally _see_ the tension between you two. It’s that bad.”

“It’s not! We just… I mean, with Angel gone we don’t even work together anymore, so I guess we’ll see each other socially, not that there is a _we_, there’s no _we_, there’s just me and him, Wesley that is, as separate entities, and I guess we’ll see each other from time to time but it won’t be… I mean… it doesn’t _matter_ that we…”

“That you _what?”_ I prodded, pacing.

“… kissed.” Fred mumbled.

“_What?”_ I exploded. “_When? You didn’t tell me?!!”_

“This afternoon… A lot.” Fred sounded abashed. “But I mean… he thought I was gonna die, and… he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, he was just worried and-”  
“And _worried_ people have a tendency to randomly snog you dozens of times?” I demanded. I could feel a migraine coming on. I thought being unemployed with a nice bit of bank saved up was meant to be less stressful. Clearly not for me.

“I… I mean… dozens is a little excessive… though I guess once you count Halloween…”

_“Halloween?”_ I felt a physical pain in my ass and wondered if I was going to have a stress-induced heart attack. “That was _four months ago!_ You couldn’t find _one opportunity_ to tell me about this in _four months?_ Why the hell are you two not having babies already if you kissed four months ago? Christ, what do I have to do with you two? _What does it take!”_

“Our memories were erased!” Fred protested weakly. “I… we didn’t remember any of it! It doesn’t even count!”

“It a _hundred percent counts!”_ I smacked my forehead as hard as I could, repeatedly. “For the sake of my entirely un-delightful mother, may she keep farming in hell, why does the fact that you and Wesley kissed _long before_ She-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Named got her perfectly manicured evil hands on him, _not count? _It means he chose you!”

“I basically ambushed him in a fridge.” Fred mumbled. “And we were both drunk anyway so-”

“Fred.” I cut her off. I counted to ten mentally. “I have a dilapidated theatre to get up and running, an entirely new musical to write, recruit for, and direct, investors to keep happy, and six billion people to wow with the glory of my spectacle! I don’t have time to spend sorting out your… look. You are going to sing for me. And you are going to work things out with Wesley, or I swear to God, I will _kidnap _the person who removed my sleep, get them to do it again, and wait a month for the powers to come back, _just_ so that I can mystically force some sense into your brains!”

“I-”

_“Now!”_

“Oh, I, umm, I’m a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my-”

“Cut!” I slashed my hand through the air, unable to keep a smile off my face (though I kept my happiness firmly out of my voice). “You listening, Dr Oblivious?”

“I’m not-”

“You’re not _listening?” _I growled.

“I am!” Fred rapidly changed track. “I totally am, but-”

“The park, under the tree. Then forty-six. Then four, why, cue, tee, eight, eight, one.”

“Lorne, what are you-”

“Ciao.” I hung up, stashing the phone in my pocket.

I clasped my hands behind my back, looked at the stage, and counted, very slowly, to ten.

“That your planned leading lady on the phone?” My principal investor, Brad (of course that was his name) sidled up the aisle to join me, puffing on a cigar. He was a movie director, normally. Owed me a big favour. Thankfully. “They’re always a pain. We don’t got recruitment problems already, do we?”

“Not _my_ leading lady.” I smiled reassuringly. “And she’s a pain in a very special way.”

“Heh. Aren’t they all?” He took an impossibly long drag on his cigar. “What do you think of the place?”

“Upon this rock,” I smiled. “I will build my church. And they will come.”

“Jeez, I hope so.” He shook his head, looking around sceptically. He pushed his sunglasses (which he was wearing, indoors, _at night_) down his nose and looked at me meaningfully. “Place ain’t gonna be cheap to fix up even for you, green machine.”

“Nothing great’s ever cheap.”

“I feel ya, I feel ya.” He puffed some more smoke. “This better be one hell of a musical you produce, Lorne. I mean, I know you’re a genius, all you’ve done for me, well worth taking a gamble on but… well… this is a _big_ gamble.”

“Showbiz wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.” I grinned. “Besides, a big fish like yourself? You gotta swim in a different ocean from time to time, let ‘em know your name. Let ‘em know you’re fierce.”

“Ha! True enough, on all counts.” He nodded, looking satisfied. “Once we get the place fixed up, I can start bringing some other people in on this if we need more funding. Your name carries weight, pal. This thing’ll sell itself.”

“It sure will.” I smiled genuinely, beginning to walk towards the stage. “It’s gonna be a _heaven_ of a musical.”

“Hey as long as it sells, as long as it sells.” I clambered up onto the stage and waked towards the middle as he talked. “What are you thinking?”

I gazed around the theatre with an air of eminent satisfaction. Down into the orchestra pit. The wings on either side of the stage. The mountings just _begging _for beautiful chandeliers to be hung on them. All those seats to fill with happy, enthralled patrons. And a small box right near the middle, just the right size for two people sitting close to one another. I smiled, imagining who was gonna sit there.

“Loss!” I began to pace, doing a whistle-stop tour of my memories for inspiration. “Tragedy. Misfortune. Unhappy accidents. Separation. Heartache…”

I remembered what I’d seen the future holding and kept going. “Joy. Family. Comradeship. Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. Love. A happy ending. And lots of singing and dancing.”

“I love it.” He nodded approvingly.  
“Me too.” I puffed myself up a little. The world was my oyster now.

“What are you gonna call it?” Brad asked, rubbing his chin.

“Life.” I tilted my head back and breathed in the rich scent of the place. Life. That would do. The greatest story never told, for the most part. I was gonna tell it. It was going to be beautiful, heartwrenching, soulrending, people were going to weep in their seats and gasp in jubilation, clamp hands over mouths in shock, cheer with happiness, it was going to be-

“Deep shit.” Brad interrupted my reverie by nodding approvingly and puffing on his cigar. “Great. People _love _deep shit. Deep shit sells.”

With a great effort, I kept the smile on my face, and hoped I didn’t look like a maniac. “Sure does.” Ah, showbiz.

“Mister Lorne!” I spun to face Van as he bustled out of the wings, covered in cobwebs. “Backstage looks good! Well, not good, but as expected!”

“Brilliant, brilliant, my Van!” I rubbed my hands together gleefully. “And where is Dan?”

“I think he’s still checking out the facilities, sir. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Well, let’s go check up on him. We got a musical to stage.” I slung one arm round his shoulders. “Trust me, Van-pie, sticking with me and getting out of Wolfram and Hart was the best decision you could have made.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, no, no ‘sir’, I’m just Lorne!” I punched him on the shoulder. “Now, do you want to be in charge of initial casting for all the male actors, or the female actors?”

“Uhh…”

“And how about props?” I looked around thoughtfully. “Do you want to do props, or the broader set? Because both need to be done, and honestly we need to get rolling if we want to have this thing done in time for-”

“Lorne!” Van almost shouted, then flushed and bit his lip.

“Van?” I smiled encouragingly.

“Take a breath, sir.” He smiled hesitantly. “You’ve got time.”

“That I do.” I grinned. “That I do. Alright, let’s go find Dan, and then let’s go drink and strategise. There is a sweet party nearby in the most delightful place, instead of putting umbrellas in the drinks, there’s these little sparklers, and if that sounds good you should see the decor, I mean gosh, it is just delicious. And so’s the food, obviously, I mean phew, can anybody say delectable?”

“Delectable.”

“You’re gonna go far, kid.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I glanced at the clock and rolled my eyes. Forty minutes.

Spike had been in the shower for _forty minutes_. He didn’t even _sweat_, he was a vampire, why did he need such long showers? Every second that passed, I was regretting my promise not to tease or complain about his shower time more and more. I mean, sure he’d saved my life, but we _saved each other’s lives at the time,_ did it really give him a right to…

Oh my gosh, Wolfram and Hart had affected me. I’d got _petty._

I flopped back on the sofa, huffing and lying down. I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes and closed them. God, I was exhausted. Spending all night dealing with the fortune teller and the Loa… using the Orlon window instead of sleeping… creeping around all day trying not to get my memories erased by Sam… fleeing desperately through the building with Wesley… partaking in vigorous physical activity with Wesley… ‘fighting’ Sam… getting impaled… and then being fired. Which meant I had a totally free evening. The first in… well… months.

Minus the hours spent working with Wesley on… her. I felt an unpleasant prickliness run over me and sighed, squeezing my eyes more tightly shut. I’d been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, three times over. The kiss on halloween - which _counted _so much - had been months ago and erased from our memories, and today had been… well. Like I’d told Lorne, he’d thought I was dying. Pumped full of adrenaline, driven half-crazed by stress and worry… it hadn’t _meant_ anything to him. I mean, I hoped it did a little.

But next to what he had with Sam? Pfft. A couple of kisses he probably hadn’t even enjoyed all that much didn’t mean diddly squat. He was probably out there tracking her down, right now. Beyond any shadow of a doubt. I would stay here. In my apartment. Quiet night in. Order in some food. Watch some distracting TV. Read to put myself to sleep. Quiet.

AKA boring. Just like me. I sighed dejectedly. I wanted Feigenbaum right now. That poor rabbit had really been through the wringer these last few months. Sniffled into, cried with, hugged up close night after night, hearing my whingeing and whining and despairing over and over… but he cheered me up. I could use a cuddle. And obviously Feigenbaum wasn’t the person I wanted to cuddle but… much like Wesley, he’d always taken care of me. Feigenbaum had protected me from night terrors, Wesley from horrifying monsters and mortal peril. Feigenbaum had gone on pretend adventures with me when I was younger, wielding his magic carrot to solve riddles and defeat foes. Wesley had spent countless hours with me, smiling at me, chatting, discussing scientific theories and brain-teasers, history, literature, our lives and… and…

I missed Wesley. I pouted. I needed a shower. Wash all the grime and dirt off of myself. But for now, I’d settle for ice cream. Lots of it. I sighed and began wandering towards the freezer. Strawberry or chocolate? Decisions, decisions, maybe I could also pop to that bakery around the corner and grab a brownie or some muffins. They did great scones too, maybe I could take Wes there sometime and-

I buried my head in my hands and groaned. “Stop it.” I instructed myself firmly. “Just stop it.”

I could call him. Faux casually inquire about him. Ask if he wanted to celebrate unemployment together and…

And he’d politely decline, because he had _Sam_ (or would, very soon) so why would he want me? I was the model 1.0. And since we’d finally worked the kinks out of the 2.0 (now with 100% less evil!) - because of course I’d helped him with it, like a total doormat - why on earth would he want anything to do with me?

I stared at the phone for a few moments, fighting down the itch to call him. I looked away, and walked to the freezer, retrieving my ice cream. Today was a tub day, not a bowl day. I moved to sit back down on the sofa and started eating, not being too careful about it. Only Spike would see if I made a mess, and he was in no position to complain. None at all. I wonder if he would go back to Buffy, now that we were all safe. Or maybe he’d stick around a few weeks to keep an eye on Sam, but once he was sure she was normal and non-evil, he’d jet off to Europe, questing for his grand love, his true love, the kind that I would never-

The phone rang. I looked between the phone and the ice cream. Politeness warred with personal greed. Politeness won. I put down the tub on the coffee table with the spoon and slowly walked over to the phone, stretching. I yawned as I picked up the receiver: I really didn’t have the willpower today. “Winifred Burkle speaking?”

“Hi Fred.” I jumped almost a foot in the air as Wesley’s voice came out of the phone. I clamped one hand over my mouth to get rid of any last bits of yawn noise and flushed bright red.

I collected myself and removed my hand from my mouth. “Hi, Wesley.” I did my best to sound even vaguely casual, rather than panicking. Why was he calling? Had something gone wrong? Had Sam gone evil? Were Angel or Charles in danger? Why would he call? Unless…

No, no way. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t still…

“What’s up?” I asked, shutting down my train of thought as firmly as I could.

“I was… ah. Well. I was just thinking about, umm, earlier today actually.” Wesley sounded nervous. What reason could he possibly have to be nervous? “I… well. I was wondering if… let me start over. I understand that today was… today was stressful, dangerous, and hectic and… well, I would _never_ hold you to account for anything you said or did in the moment-”

Which was a very clever and gracious way of politely intimating that _he _shouldn’t be held to account for anything he did or said to me. Like all those lovely compliments, or the hugging, or the looks, or the kissing and… of course I wouldn’t hold him to account. I’d never do that. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“- given that you thought you might be about to die or, well, what I’m trying to say is… more like trying to ask, I suppose, is whether… ah… you just mentioned previously… Let me start over. Again. I was-”

“Wesley,” I kept my voice steady with a great effort of will, trying to hide how much I _desperately_ wanted him to keep rambling, because every second he spent rambling was a second I got to spend on the phone with him, and I treasured every second with him. But. But it wasn’t fair to let him stew and suffer when he had important things to get back to doing, probably with Sam, and he had a question for me. I had to help him out. “You’re tying yourself in so many verbal knots you’re starting to sound like me. Don’t worry, you can spit it out. I… I don’t bite.”

  
“Alright.” I heard Wesley clear his throat and frowned, genuinely perplexed. What could be the problem? “Earlier… during this very stressful day which means I in no way hold you accountable for anything you said… you suggested that if you didn’t die, we… we could have dinner?”

I blinked in complete shock. My brain struggled to process. Wesley was… he was asking me to… not her?

“I mean, only if you still want to.” Wesley started talking again, faster than before. “I mean, if… if you don’t want to anymore, or if you only said it because you were afraid and pumped full of adrenaline then I absolutely understand, and I’ll forgot about it, and-”

“Aren’t you…” I swallowed. “Busy? I mean with… with y’know. Aren’t you with… her right now?”

“I’m not. Busy, that is.” Wesley responded quietly. “I… I haven’t been to see Sam. And… and I wasn’t planning to.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t going to see Sam. “Oh.” He… he wanted to spend time with _me_.

My heart abruptly soared upwards in my chest. “Yes! Yes, I… I would love to have dinner tonight. With you, I mean, specifically. Umm, did you invite anyone else?”

“Not yet.” My heart sank again. But he was planning to. Not a date, a friends’ dinner, a group celebration, of course he’d want that, he was such a big softy at heart, he really cared about- “But if you want me to, I can invite them?”

He hadn’t invited anyone else. He wasn’t going to, unless I wanted to. Which I didn’t. Which meant that… that this was going to be a…

“No!” I had not used my inside voice. I scaled back the volume. “No, I’d prefer just us.”

“Me too.” Wesley responded, genuine _warmth_ and _excitement_ in his voice.

“Where do you want to go?” I was smiling like a complete idiot. A lovestruck complete idiot. “I‘m good with anywhere, honestly, except sushi, tonight’s not really a sushi night and… and anywhere, really.” I finished lamely, flushing. Why was it so hard for me to hold a sentence together? Everyone else could do it!

“I thought that you might like Tacos?” Wesley said quietly, apprehensively. “Would that… I mean, do you want…”

“Yes, that sounds _amazing._” I beamed. “Can we get takeout? I don’t want to sit and wait forever for food.”

“I agree, I ah… well… to be honest…”

“Wes?” I smiled, leaning back against the counter. “What’s up?”

“I… I might be calling you from outside the takeaway taco place near the Hyperion.”

“Salsa Arturo?” My smile widened. “I love that place! But… but you knew that already, didn’t you?” I bit my lip to keep my smile widening further.

“It’s why I’m here, actually.” He sounded sheepish.

“Excellent call.” I beamed. “Why don’t you head straight over and we can eat here?”

“Sounds great.” Wesley sounded slightly stunned. “There’s no line, so I’ll be there any minute.”

“Fantastic!” God, I felt like a million dollars. A billion. A million billion. “See you soon!”

“Can’t wait.” Wesley stayed on the line.

“Me either.” I waited a second. “Are you gonna hang up?”

“I probably should.” Wesley spoke with the tone of a man considering ritual suicide. Hopefully he was thinking about hanging up, and not our date.

Oh my gosh, I had a _date! _With _Wesley!_

“I’ll do it for you.” I smiled. “But only because I care, and know you can’t bear to. See you soon!” I hung up and punched the air with both hands, grinning. Wesley was coming here!

I froze in place, cold dread pulsing in my veins. I looked down: I was wearing a ratty t-shirt with holes in it (not even the strategic kind of holes, the old-age-induced kind of holes), a pair of loose sweatpants, mismatched socks, I’d removed all my makeup, my hair was a rat’s nest, and I could feel ice-cream dotting the area around my mouth. I looked around the apartment: glasses piling up at the side of the sink, dirty plates, a tub of ice cream on the coffee table. Everything was a mess.

Wesley was coming _here._

“Oh, crumbs.” I mumbled and leapt into action. The ice cream tub went straight back into the freezer, the remaining ice cream in the bowl went in the fridge, and the spoon went in the dishwasher along with all the other dirty plates and glasses. I flew around my apartment, grabbing random clothes and bits of tat that had been left on floors and draped over chairs, and shoved the tat into a suitably empty drawer, before rushing into my bedroom with the remaining clothes. I dumped them unceremoniously into the washing basket and sat down at my dressing table, checking the clock: Wesley had been at the taco place five minutes ago, which meant he probably had the food and was driving this way. He could be here in just a few minutes.

I breathed in deeply, then breathed out again. I wiped the ice cream remnants off my face, and began carefully applying makeup. Foundation. Eyeliner and eyeshadow. Lipstick. A little blush (though knowing me I’d be blushing enough without it). I winced as I dragged a comb through my hair and grimaced a the end result: not quite curly, not quite straight. Lord, why had I said come straight over? Half an hour. I could have just called back and said I needed half an hour, and actually looked nice when he got here. I was my own worst enemy.

I pulled the t-shirt over my head and opened my wardrobe, scanning wildly for anything vaguely date-appropriate. Oh shoot, did I go for a shirt and skirt or a dress? Or a shirt and jeans? I resisted the urge to bite my nails. Shirt and skirt. That would be good. I plucked out a red top that I always personally thought was cute and a nice skirt to go with it. I pulled on the top and kicked off my sweatpants, putting on the skirt. I looked myself up and down in the mirror, chewing my lip nervously. I thought I looked nice.

Nice for me, that was. In my own way. That would have to be good enough. I hoped it was good enough. Earrings! I didn’t have any earrings in! I raced back to my dressing table and fiddled to get my earrings in. 

I’d just finished putting on one, when the doorbell rang. “Coming!” I called out, dashing over to the door. “That you, Wes?”

“In the flesh.” He still sounded nervous. 

“Okay, you can come in, but no peeking, alright? Not quite ready yet.”

“You have my solemn word.”

“Great!” I pulled open the door, positioning myself so that I was mostly standing behind it, and peered around it. 

Wesley, handsome as ever, was standing there, holding a bag of tacos, eyes tightly shut. If only his eyes were open, that would be the perfect sight. “Okay, walk slowly.” He advanced slowly into the apartment.

“Okay, to your left. And now your other left. By which I mean right, obviously. There’s no such thing as an _other_ left, that would just be-” Oh he was _not _allowed to smile that cutely when I was trying to give directions, that wasn’t fair. What was he even smiling at? “Oh, I’m hopeless.”

I grabbed his hand - feeling a shiver pass through me at the contact - and slowly led him over to the sofa. “Okay, sit down now.”

He sat down. “This is very cloak and dagger.” He smiled.

“I’m afraid there’s no grand surprise, candles or anything.” I shrugged apologetically. “I’m… just a mess.”

“I doubt that.” He flushed slightly. I felt a hint of pink pour into my cheeks. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go finish up, so just… feel free to open your eyes like five seconds from now.” I raced back into the bedroom just to be safe and closed the door behind me, taking several deep breaths. Okay. Just one earring. One earring and I’d be ready. Totally ready. I could do this. This would be great. So great. So easy. Totally fine.

“Well, someone’s dolled up.” My stomach dropped and I snapped my eyes open. Spike was grinning lasciviously at me as he walked out of the ensuite, water dripping off him, lower half wrapped in a towel. “Got a hot-”

I sprinted across the room and clamped one hand over his mouth. He raised an eyebrow. “Towel off!” I hissed. Spike grinned and I felt an urge to curl into a ball and die. “No! As in…” I lowered my voice.

“Dry off, clothes on. Right now. No talking!”

“What’s the big idea?” Spike grumbled as I removed my hand. I turned around, walked over to my table, angled the mirror so I would be able to see exactly _none_ of what was behind me, and fiddled with my last earring. “It’s not right to kick a man out right after his-”

“Fred? Is everything alright?” Wesley’s voice came from the other room. 

“Everything’s great, Wes!” I called out, keeping my voice chipper. “Just give me one minute!”

“Ah.” Spike said from behind me. He lowered his voice. “Ah, I see. And you’re eating here?”

I nodded vigorously, finishing off my earring and moving to stand in front of the door. “Done now, pet.” I gingerly turned around: he was dressed. Thank god. “Now I do need to get past.”

I stiffened: Spike’s hair was still wet. What if Wesley heard the shower while he was coming in and assumed that the reason I was late was because I had… that Spike and I had been… he’d thought we were dating at one point after all!

I couldn’t take the risk. I shook my head firmly.

Spike hissed back. “Then where the bloody hell am I supposed to-”

I pointed firmly to the balcony. Spike looked between me and the balcony. “No.”

I jabbed my finger more insistently. 

“No way.” Spike shook his head. “There’s no reason to…”

I turned my most pleading expression on Spike, letting my eyes go wide, clasping my hands together in the universal symbol for prayer, staring deep into his eyes.

His facial muscles twitched. “That’s just not bloody fair.” He muttered under his breath, stalking towards the window. “Hope Wes knows what he’s getting himself into, jumping in with another bloody mind-controller…” Spike wrenched open the balcony doors and I winced at the noise, before he walked outside and slipped off the balcony, into the night.

I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Fred?” Wesley’s voice was suspicious now.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I moved over to the door and opened it, slowly walking back out of the bedroom. “I’m back!”

Wesley - who’d been sitting on the sofa - stood up and smiled nervously at me. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Oh God. What is it? Have I got something in my hair?” I patted experimentally, praying that I hadn’t missed a spot of ice cream on my face.

“No, no, it’s just…” Wesley smiled shyly. “You look so beautiful.”

“Oh.” I smiled, biting my lip to keep it under control. “Thank you.”

I felt a flush steal over me, and looked Wesley up and down: smart trousers. Jumper. Hair neater than its usual state, by a few degrees. He looked very handsome. “You look very handsome.” I smiled at him. “And also very, very relieved. Which is interesting.”

“Ah, you’ll think I’m silly if I tell you why.” Wesley grinned in a self-deprecating kind of way. 

“Oh, don’t be a tease. Just spill.” I smiled and sat down on the sofa beside him, leaning forwards to peek into the takeout bag. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Spicy beef, or tex mex chicken?

Wesley knowing all my favourites did make for some difficult decisions sometimes. Good problems to have, though. Very good problems.

“I thought, for a moment, that you might have regretted inviting me over. And opening the door.” Wesley leaned back on the sofa, seemingly content to wait while I made a decision on the tacos.

“What on earth made you think that?” I passed him the chicken, noting with satisfaction the hint of relief in his eyes. Wesley preferred chicken to beef. At least in tacos. “Have I been anything but an accommodating host?”

“No, you’ve been lovely. Minus the blind man’s buff antics.” Wesley grinned and I rolled my eyes in response. “I just… I would have sworn I heard you climbing out the window.”

Oh. Spike. That made sense. “Just the wind.” I shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

“That I have an overactive imagination?”

“Pssh. Nonsense. No such thing.” I waved a hand. “Ooh! Plates. Let me just get plates! And napkins! Plus drinks!” I jumped up and dashed to the kitchen, returning with lemonade, two plates, and napkins. 

“Much obliged.” Wesley inclined his head, transferring his taco to his plate with the precision of a brain surgeon before tucking in.

I was a little less surgical. But only a little! This was a date, so I had to be on best behaviour, but this was tacos!  


“You feeling all better?” I asked between bites.

“Much recovered, yes.” Wesley nodded. “A little worn out from the magic, but that’s a hazard of the job.”

“Is it the kind of worn out that coffee can help with?” I asked hopefully. If it was, I had plenty of coffee.

“Afraid not.”

“Darn it.” I frowned. “That settles it, I’m never learning magic.”

  
Wesley chuckled and I smiled in response. I still had it. Granted ‘it’ was accidental humour, but hey. Life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

“So, how’s unemployment treating you?” Wesley asked conversationally. “The, ah, two hours of it, you’ve enjoyed thus far.”

“Pretty good. Nice and relaxed. Looking forward to lots more of it.” I smiled, putting down my plate and counting on my fingers. “Lots of time, opportunity to catch up on reading, watch some TV, sleep in, spend some more time with my friends…”

“Most of our friends have already found jobs again, which is rather depressing.” Wesley frowned. “Angel’s flying off to Europe to join up with Buffy and the Scoobies.”

“Lorne’s producing his own musical.” I piped up. “He even headhunted some of his staff from Wolfram and Hart to help him. He’s fixing up an old theatre from scratch, the works.”

“That sounds exciting.” Wesley smiled. “We should get tickets to go see that.”

“Way ahead of you.” I winked. “Got a box already.”

“Well, look at you.” Wesley winked back. “The corporate life has made you enterprising.”

“Oh, shush.” I flicked his nose and returned to my taco. “That leaves Charles.”

“Last I saw Gunn, he was marching towards the city courthouse with a determined look in his eyes.” Wesley mused. “I don’t think he’s done with his legal skills just yet.”

“Oh, not the look.” I sighed. I knew just the one. “LA’s going to have a new crusader, methinks.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Wesley raised an eyebrow.

“No, of course not, I just…” I huffed. “I’m gonna feel much worse sitting around relaxing and enjoying idleness when Angel’s off fighting evil, Charles is defending the defenceless, and Lorne is producing his own self-written musical.”

“Everyone deserves a break.” Wesley shrugged, smiling at me. “You more than most, I think. You’ve been the one dealing with the… ah… extracurricular problems of the job.”

“Boy, have I ever.” I sighed, putting down my empty plate. “I’m not gonna be idle for long, anyway. I’m gonna have to go job hunting soon.”

“Soon?” Wesley raised an eyebrow. He had nice eyebrows. And pretty eyes. Very classically handsome.

“It’s a thing that people do when they need to find a job, mister Trust Fund.” I stuck out my tongue at him and Wesley laughed. “I don’t know about you, but the rent on this apartment is gonna burn through my savings pretty quick if I don’t have anything coming in.”

“Even with your severance package?” Wesley questioned.

“My what-now?” I frowned, leaning forwards. 

Wesley blinked, then smiled broadly. “You don’t know?”

“Obviously not. Tell me.” I poked him. “Tell me now! I hate not knowing things! Especially when you have that-” _Very_ alluring. “- knowing look on your face!”

“Now, what I’m about to say is going to make you very happy.” Wesley’s eyes twinkled good-naturedly. “Are you ready?”

I rolled my eyes and took several exaggerated deep breaths, then propped my chin on my hand and raised an eyebrow at Wesley. “Satisfied?”

“For now.” Wesley paused dramatically. “It’s in our contract, Fred. We were terminated without due cause, so each of us gets a golden parachute to see us off.”

“The kind of parachute that makes you fall to a horrible death? What are you looking at me like that for, it’s basic physics, gold would be a terrible…” Oh. Right. Oops. “… you mean money, don’t you?”

“I do indeed.” Wesley grinned. “No horrible falling. Unless you want to spend some of your money on skydiving.”

“Oh, no way.” I shook my head, then smiled. A severance package. Paid for being fired from a job I hated. There was some justice in the world. “How golden are we talking?”

“Guess.” Wesley’s mouth quirked upwards.

“A million dollars!” I threw out, grinning. It was a joke.

Which was why I was very surprised when Wesley’s smile widened, and he pointed one finger at the ceiling.

“You’re teasing me.” I frowned, leaning in to examine his face more closely. No signs of deception. Just a hint of satisfaction, plus an overload of rugged handsomeness. “That’s not very nice.”

“Not teasing.” Wesley smiled. “Let me whisper it in your ear.”

I smiled and tilted my head to one side, closing my eyes. Wesley leaned in. “One and a half million dollars. Each. Eighteen months’ pay, tax-free.”

I opened my eyes and stared at him. He nodded, pulling back ever so slightly, and leaving behind a tantalising musky smell.

“Oh. My. God.” I sat back for a moment, mind whirring. A big old house back home, and enough to live comfortably off if I invested it. A fleet of flash cars. A small scientific laboratory. Several hundred thousand tacos, and well over a million scoops of ice cream. 

Gosh, I could pay for my parents’ vacation to Hawaii! That they’d always wanted to go on, for years! I almost squealed with joy. “We’re _rich_.”

Wesley shrugged very nonchalantly for a newly minted millionaire. “I’m not sure I’d say rich, but-”

“Wesley.” I grinned, leaning in. I wasn’t expecting him to lean in too, and our noses ended up almost bumping. Somehow, I managed to push on without hyperventilating at the proximity. “Before I got dropped into hell, I was planning on going into academia. Trust me, compared to what I would have got paid there, I’m Cleopatra. Minus the snake thing.”

“Well, then.” Wesley raised his lemonade and smiled broadly. “To being young, wildly intelligent, impossibly attractive, free, sweet, and rich.” 

Impressive self-confidence. Lucky for him, he backed up every word. “Cheers.” I clinked my glass against his and drank.

Wait. Wesley thought _I_ was wildly intelligent and impossibly attractive? I flushed slightly pink, feeling a little dizzy. Darn Wesley and his word-smithing!

“Now you have to do one for me.” Wesley grinned.

I swatted him on the shoulder and laughed. “C’mon, Wes, that one was clearly for both of us.”

“No.” Wesley smiled. “It was for you.”

I squeezed his shoulder and smiled back. “It’s for you too. In my _wildly intelligent_ opinion. But if I must…”

I leaned back and pursed my lips thoughtfully, wrinkling up my forehead in thought. “To always being true to oneself, very kind to your friends, merciful to your enemies… and brave enough to take those first bold steps into the unknown.”

Wesley blushed slightly, and tapped his glass against mine. I wonder if he’d caught my veiled reference to his actions tonight?

“And also to loving books, and tea, and remembering your friend’s favourite taco flavours and restaurant months after you last got them, and managing to make her feel special.” I smiled. “I like to be made to feel special.”

“I think we all do.” Wesley smiled fondly. “It’s just easier in your case because… you are.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” I shuffled slightly along the sofa until we were sitting leg-to-leg. God, he was so warm. “You’re special too.”

Wesley frowned sceptically.

“Well, at the very least,” I placed my hand on top of his and smiled, whispering. “You’re special to _me._”

“Thank you, Fred.” Wesley smiled. “Thank you for…”

“For what?” I teased, after he’d been silent a few moments. “C’mon. Can’t think of even one measly thing?”

“Thank you, for letting me be a part of your world.” Wesley bowed his head.

Aww. “Glad to have you. Thank you for calling me.” I said genuinely. “Thank you for being _here_, and not… well. Anywhere else.”

Wesley snorted and waved one hand. “What’s anywhere else that’s interesting?”

“Gee,” I giggled, raising an eyebrow. “How about, the whole rest of the world besides me?”

“I’d like to refer you to my earlier point.” Wesley said quietly.

An all-too-brief shiver ran through me.

Okay. Alright. How did I do this? Because… because I was more sure than ever of what I wanted. And I was pretty sure Wes also wanted. Or at least was inclined or open to the possibility of wanting. I mean… did I just… kiss him? It had worked on Halloween! And I’d kissed him earlier today, in the heat of the moment - not that I regretted it, because I did _not_ and would never regret it - and he hadn’t minded but… well…

It didn’t feel _right_. But if not that, then what did I do?

I broke eye contact, looking around for inspiration. My eyes fell on the window. My lovely new window, through which I could see a lovely, crisp looking evening. Something clicked.

“Wes, would you like to go for a walk? With me?” I swallowed, feeling my heart rate speed up significantly. “It… it looks like a really pretty night out. Stars and… the moon… and… well…”

“I would love that.” Wesley smiled broadly and I breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Anywhere in mind?”

“There’s a lovely park nearby.” I stood up and, once Wesley was standing up too, intertwined my fingers with his and squeezed his hand.

Wesley’s smile was breathtaking in its wonder.

“C’mon.” I did my best attempt at a flirty smile. “Let me show you.”

\+ + + + + + +

**Spike**

I hopped down to street level and dusted myself off. I looked up at the balcony. “You two had better get this soap opera over and done with by tonight.” I growled. “Or I’m going to be proper miffed.” Alright, so it didn’t have the calibre of a high quality threat, but I wasn’t going to threaten _Fred_.

I’d have to get around to threatening Wesley one of these days though. Bring in Lorne, Charles, and Angel, have a sit-down with him and very calmly explain that if he ever so much as _looked_ at another woman again, especially a blonde one, we were going to separate him from every last one of his appendages, one at a time, and never tell Fred where we hid the body. That should work. The git had already made Fred heartsick for months and spent the time cuddling and sweet-hearting with the maniac who’d been plotting Fred’s death the whole time. I shuddered: women. You think you find a normal one, and she still turns out to be at least a little psycho. Or maybe that was just our luck.

Or mine. Hmm.

Ah, bollocks. I was gonna need a new place to live. The smell was going to become unbearable in that apartment if these two immediately worked it out, and Fred was going to be impossible to deal with if they didn’t. Not for long, admittedly, since he’d come crawling back to her in record time if anything were to happen on that front.

Crawling, because if he did anything to hurt her feelings, I was going to snap at least one of his legs, and take my chances on the staked-in-my-sleep front.

I blew out a long breath, stuck my hands in my pockets, and started wandering down the street. I’d find the nearest phone booth and call Angel. Intrude on his private life for a couple of hours. We could go drinking together, and I could beat him at darts, and everything else. It’d be fun. Just like old times. I grinned all the way to the phone booth, dropped a couple of quarters in and dialled his number.

It rang for a minute. “I swear to god,” I growled. “If you didn’t learn to pick up your bloody phone after today, I am going to shove it so far up your-”

“Hello?” A whiny, all-too-familiar voice intruded on my hearing.

“Harmony?” I frowned. 

“Blondie-bear.” She replied sulkily. “You left without saying goodbye.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I was unconscious.” I scratched the back of my head.

“Hmmph.”

“Isn’t this Angel’s phone?” I asked.

“It’s a company phone, he left it with us when he cleared out.” Harmony replied.

“Alright, where’s Angel?” I sighed, kicking the ground. I hoped he wasn’t too far. I was already aching like nobody’s business after Sam’s bloody lift booby-trap had thrown me through the nearest wall and collapsed part of a building on me, didn’t want to run halfway across the city just to piss off Angel. Would be bloody inconsiderate of him to make me expend all the effort.

“I dunno.” Classic Harmony. “Err… probably somewhere near New York, right now, I guess?”

“What are you on about?” I frowned. New York? I didn’t think even Harmony was ditzy enough to mix up California and New York.

“Oh, fine. Somewhere _above_ New York. Happy now?”

“He took the jet?” A terrible feeling of anticipation stole over me. “Where’s he going?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Scotland, I think.”

“SON OF A BITCH!” I punched the phone booth as hard as I could without breaking it and swore colourfully for a few seconds. “Harmony, get me a jet!”

Harmony snorted. “You’re not my boss.”

Okay, Charm School it was. “Listen, Harm.” I took the tone she’d always liked. “I’m not your boss, but I’m your Blondie Bear, aren’t I? And I need to catch up to Angel quick as I can, it’s really important, so could you _please_ do me a favour and call me a jet?”

“Oh, I wish I could Blondie Bear!” Harmony sighed. “Angel took the only one. I could call another here, but by the time it arrives Angel won’t own the company anymore so there’s no way they’ll take you.”

“DAMMIT!” I swore, and slammed the phone back on the receiver.

Buffy. Angel was stealing a march on me! That ungrateful sod! I stayed in LA, denying myself Buffy, just to help him and his team (mostly Fred) out of the goodness of my heart (gratitude to Fred) and now he’d buggered off to Europe without me, so he could play the pity card and say ‘look at me, I left Wolfram and Hart, I’ve changed!’ and try to win her back! Like that was gonna work! 

Buffy thought I was dead. Oh, piss. If she thought I was dead and… and Angel showed up… which he would any minute now, then… then even if I got there in time, she’d be mad as all hell at me for not letting her know I was alive, and pleased as a peach with Angel for turning his back on the dark side!

I was screwed. No, dammit, no, think Spike. _Think_. You need a plan. Fred! I’d call Fred, get her help! She’d know what to do, she was smart and-

And would not at all appreciate me interrupting her date with Wesley she’d been waiting months for just for some relationship advice, when she’d told me - incessantly - that even if I wasn’t going to Buffy yet, I should call and tell her I was alive. She’d be pissed off. And smug. And very unlikely to help, when she had such pleasant alternatives available.

I bashed my head against the phone box. I couldn’t let Captain Forehead do this, dammit. Sneaky son of a bitch. If not Fred, then… then…

I knew what to do. I could turn this to my advantage. Delay Angel long enough to get there, and at the same time explain away my absence. It was risky… but the alternative was losing Buffy to Angel.

Risky it was.

I dialled a second number and waited. One ring. Two.

“Hello?”

“Red!” I almost cried with relief. “Oh, it is _so bloody good_ to hear your voice!”

“Spike!” Willow gasped. “You’re alive! Holy snack-cakes!”

“Holy snack-cakes is right, Willow!” I grinned. “I’m back. In the flesh.”

“How?” She gasped. “We all thought you were… that the amulet had-”

“I didn’t die. I was trapped by the amulet. Imprisoned within it.” I paused. “At Wolfram and Hart.”

Willow gasped. “You… you don’t mean-”

“I’ve been in Angel’s corporate dominion for months!” I growled, channelling my anger at Angel into the performance. “I was a spectre most of the time. So insubstantial I couldn’t even lift a pen, worried about hell licking at my heels.”

“But… but we just talked to Angel!” Willow sounded confused. And hurt. But not at me. Good sign. “He… he never mentioned you.”

“That wasn’t Angel, Red.” I paused. “It was _Angelus_.”

“_What?_”

“Look,” I took a second to get my story straight. “Angel’s been running the show a while now. You think he just upped sticks and left for no reason?”

“He… he said an employee had tried to kill Fred, that that was why-”

“Sam was never going to kill Fred.” I told the truth. Technically. “Angel lost his soul. Slept with some werewolf art student named Nina, and _bam_. He skipped town as soon as he could, made a beeline straight for you so he could kill all of you before you got wind of what actually happened. Plus, I heard from Fred and Wes that he took some kind of mojo out of Wolfram and Hart. Something powerful and undetectable, that makes it impossible to detect that he’s lost his soul, and impossible to restore it.”

I could tell Willow was hanging on my every word. Almost there…

“Don’t worry, Red. I’ve got a fix. Fresh out of Wolfram and Hart itself.” I could figure out a prop later. “You just need to grab Angelus, keep him contained, keep him away from Buffy and the others until I get to you. Okay?”

“I can do that.” Willow said firmly. “Angelus won’t know what hit him.”

“Beautiful stuff, Red.” I punched the air. “I’m coming your way. You let me know where to meet you once I get to…”

“Scotland.”

“Got it. You’re a godsend, Red. I’ll be right there.” I paused. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Spikey.”

I hung up and grinned, leaning back against the phone, a glorious feeling of satisfaction flowing through me. “Thought you’d get a head start on me, huh, Angel?” I chuckled to myself. “Not a _bloody_ chance! Gotta get up pretty early to put one over on Spike!”

I frowned, pattiing my pockets. I’d used the last of my change for the phone call. "How the hell do I get to Europe?”

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

Fred had warm hands. Lovely and soft, with a grip that was firm enough to be reassuring and _present_, but loose enough to be comfortable. Not that holding hands with Fred could ever be considered uncomfortable. I knew, because _we were holding hands_. And had been ever since we’d left her apartment. We’d wandered downstairs and out into the night, meandering down quiet streets until we reached a charming little park

Neither of us had said anything. The silence, it felt almost… sacred. Full of such rich possibility that to say anything not deeply meaningful would be to spoil it somehow.

I’d been terrified earlier. As soon as I’d got home, I’d stared at the phone and agonised internally. The part of me pointing out rationally that Fred had confessed strong feelings for me very recently, kissed me earlier today, and suggested dinner tonight warring viciously with the part concerned that when Fred had poured out her heart to me, _I had turned her down_, that she might have kissed me and invited me to dinner just in the heat of the moment with death a strong possibility, and that even if she was genuine…

Fred hadn’t been acting the same after I’d asked for her help in medical. She’d helped, of course. But she’d been… distant. Quiet. And when we’d got outside, job done, we’d lingered but a few moments and only managed to say quiet goodbyes. She hadn’t brought up dinner. So I couldn’t bear to, to face the possibility of rejection.

But she’d seemed so _happy_ when I asked. And this… spending time with her? It was wonderful. I’d really, truly missed her. Long hours across many months of working at Wolfram and Hart had robbed me of the opportunity to spend much time with her. Especially since at the start I’d been actively avoiding her, for reasons of my own.

I felt Fred squeeze my hand and started, glancing over to her. Concern was written all over her face, and she looked at me nervously, raising an eyebrow. I nodded and smiled, intimating I was alright. She smiled back, a relieved, beautiful smile, and kept walking slowly forwards, pulling me along behind her. God, she looked so beautiful tonight.

When she’d appeared in that doorway, cheeks slightly flushed, those beautiful chocolate curls tumbling past her shoulders, smiling shyly, eyes so soft and warm… she’d looked like an angel. A vision of perfection. And as the evening passed, and we both grew more comfortable, she’d only become lovelier.

A few stray leaves crunched beneath our feet as Fred picked her way over the green, angling towards a large tree, the ground beneath which was surprisingly clean-looking. Fred slowed to a halt and looked between me and the ground, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

This seemed a good place to stay a while. I sat down and leaned against the trunk. Fred sat down close beside me and shifted to lean against my side, head tilting to rest on my shoulder. My heart began to beat very fast indeed. Slowly, carefully, I put one arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Fred’s smile widened and she burrowed slightly further into my side, closing her eyes a moment later. She looked so peaceful. So content.

But even now, I could see the gears turning. The tiny, occasional movements of her mouth. Her forehead scrunching up ever so slightly at irregular intervals. I could watch her think forever. My genius. Not that she was mine, she was her own, obviously, completely and I would never dare to-

Fred opened her eyes, and looked up. I followed her gaze. Through the canopy of leaves, we could see the strangely bright light of the half moon, shining through despite an impressive canopy of clouds.

“It’s a shame we can’t see the stars.” Fred sighed. “Back home, you could always see them. Although you couldn’t count them, there were too many, you could always see them. Stargazing… it makes me feel close to home, somehow.”

I brightened and cleared my throat. “I can actually help with that. Ahem. Dispergat, Nubibus. Revela stellae.” I felt the tug of the magic inside my chest and suppressed a grimace: no more magic for me in the next few days. Today had taken a lot out of me. Any more magic would be dangerous. But this piece had been worth it.

Steadily, the clouds above us reluctantly parted. Out of the night, clusters of stars faded into view, one at a time, until the whole sky was lit up. Fred’s expression was one of absolute wonder. She turned to me and smiled. “Now that’s the _good_ kind of magic.”

“The best.” I agreed.

“On that,” Fred’s hand came up to cup my cheek, sending bolts of electricity through my entire body, and she smiled. “I’m afraid we are in disagreement.” Ah, she was thinking of… the other kind of…  
“I… Actually think I agree with you, come to think of it.” I murmured.

“Clever boy.” Fred smiled wider and sat up slightly, pushing some errant strands of gorgeous hair behind her shoulders. “Wes?”

“Fred?” I managed in response. She looked very serious all of a sudden, still smiling slightly but… very serious.

“Do you remember Halloween?” Fred asked, voice gentle.

A million different pleasant memories competed for my attention. All of them involving Fred, and many involving kissing. “Yes. I find that particular night quite unforgettable, actually.”

“It _was_ unforgettable.” Fred smiled. “But I mean… the whole night. Not just the… very exciting part.”

“To the best of my knowledge, I do.” I nodded, trying to work out where she was going.

“The party. And, as we discussed I normally hate those… but I enjoyed that one.” Fred’s hand moved down off my cheek to squeeze my shoulder. “Because of _you_. All I wanted to do that whole night was spend time with you. Talk to you. Reminisce with you. Dance with you. All the magic drunkenness did was… strip away all my pretences about why I wanted to spend time with you, and make me confront the real reason. Just like it did at our dinner, after we helped Nina. So, what I’m trying to say is… all I really wanted was to spend time with you, alcohol or no. Okay?”

I nodded. Fred didn’t seem like she wanted me to interrupt.

“And then we got to Psych Component Storage.” Fred made eye contact and smiled. “Do you remember our conversation?”

Every word was etched on my memory. I nodded again.

“About how much fun I have whenever I’m with you. How I wanted to spend more time with you, be closer to you. Share our secrets, and our problems.” Fred paused for a moment, flushing slightly. “About… how I wanted you to be mine. How I feel. About you. And what I didn’t tell you was that, I… people don’t really understand me.”

“That’s not true.” I murmured. “We all…” I trailed off when I realised her eyes were _damp_. Oh god, she was… what had I done, what had I said (or _not_ said), how did I-

“Wesley, please, I… I have to finish. Please.” Fred looked at me. I nodded, fighting against my every instinct to shush her, wipe away the beginnings of her tears, and reassure her she was okay.

“People don’t understand me. Other kids, when I was younger, I was… I was the nerd. The geeky girl with glasses who skipped grades, and always stuck her hand up, and… and didn’t really have many friends. My parents, they… they tried so hard to _really_ get me, and they do for the most part, better than almost anyone but they… even when I was younger, they couldn’t really… connect with me on some things, understand why I was so passionate about them.”

“And at college, people were even more confused. Was I the brainy bookworm who studied for hours, aced every paper, and attended every lecture or was I the party-girl who’d stay up all night, drink her weight in alcohol, and remember barely half of what I did the night before? People put me in one of those two boxes, and that was that. I was always complicated.”

“And then I went to hell, and stayed for five years. I was alone, and I went mad. The initial horror of slavery. The terror in the weeks after my escape that they’d find me. The… the isolation for years after that, scavenging for food, praying I’d never be found, hiding from every other living creature. Then all of you rescued me and… at first most of you thought I was crazy. And then after that I was ‘used-to-be-crazy draws-on-the-walls bookworm’ Fred. They all saw the light, and… and never the dark. And when they saw my darkness, it _scared _them. They recoiled away from it, did everything they could to try and defeat it, like it was a disease. But it’s not, it’s… just part of who I am now. Not a big part, but… but it’s important. So what I’m trying to say is that for my whole life nobody’s ever really understood me.”

“Except _you_.” Fred smiled at me, twin tears tracing their way down her cheeks. “You understand every part of me, and how they fit together. You know my moods, and my hobbies. You understand that I’m clever but ditzy, and sometimes uptight but also pretty wild on occasion. You understand my passion, and my weirdness and… and I think you care about me even more because of them, not in spite of them. You never thought I was crazy, and you _never_ tried to fix me. Even when I turned up plotting murder, you had every right to be terrified but you… you knew what I needed. You helped me. You always do. You are the _only person_, I have ever known who really _knows me_. That… that means more to me than I could ever express, ever make clear to you if I wrote a thousand page novel detailing it.”

Fred took a deep breath. “So all I can really say is that I meant every word I said in Psych Component storage, and in your office that day with the puppets, and today.” Fred swallowed. “And the only way to express it is… is to tell you that I love you.”

“I…” I was overcome. “I’ve never… nobody’s ever…”

“Every word was true.” Fred whispered. “Every syllable.”

“I meant what I said. On Halloween. And everything I said in the office, that day. And everything I told you earlier today.” I shook my head in wonder, staring into Fred’s eyes. “I’ve loved you… at _least_ as long as I have known you. You’re… you’re the reason.”

“The reason?” Fred’s voice was soft. “What… what does that mean?”

“The reason I think the world is worth fighting for.” I gently raised my hand to stroke her cheek. “Your kindness. Your fundamental belief that the world deserves better, that people in it deserve better. Your vivacity, your ability to take whatever life throws at you and punch back, well above your weight, your genius, I… I flatter myself, some times, into thinking that we are at least a little similar. You’re cleverer than me, by a country mile, but… but I was never exactly popular when I was younger. I’ve always felt isolated. And… the reason I understand you, the way you say I do, it’s partially because I think we’re similar but… but also because, in truth, ever since I met you… I’ve never been able to look away from you.”

“Wesley…” Fred smiled at me, and swallowed.

“Fred?” I managed something just above the volume of a whisper.

“Together, this time.” Fred gently wiped my tears away, and I mimicked the gesture.

What were we going to… oh. Oh. “Together, yes.” I nodded and smiled shyly. “Start… as we mean to go on?” 

Fred nodded firmly in agreement. She drew a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on mine. Then, very slowly, she leaned towards me. I leaned towards her. We met in the middle, and kissed.

And in that moment, for the first time I could remember, all seemed right with the world.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“This is an excellent choice of venue.” Wesley smiled at me, bumping my knee with his under the table.

“Thank you.” I smiled back. “It’s got everything! Desserts, drinks, a private booth, _you_…” I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Wesley darted forward as I was pulling away and kissed me properly, for quite a long time.

Still hadn’t gotten used to those. Wesley drew back slightly and I blinked a couple of times. I felt dizzy. A spoon with chocolate brownie and a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream materialised in front of my mouth. Wesley, chin propped on one hand, the other proffering the spoon to me, smiled sappily.

“Why, thank you.” I ate the brownie and ice cream happily, sending my left hand hand questing forwards to thread my fingers through Wesley’s hand that was holding the spoon, and squeezing. I picked up my own spoon, dug a chunk out of the melt-in-the-middle chocolate cake and offered it to him. He ate it and smiled.

I giggled through my mouthful of food: what a picture we must make! Two people, sitting in the secluded booth in the back of the dessert parlour, sipping cocktails and feeding each other morsels of dessert. We’d stayed under the tree for a _long_ while. Until we were both so out of breath (from consistent and sustained bouts of oxygen deprivation) that we _needed_ a long period of time to catch our breaths. And sitting together, tangled up there… hadn’t been the most conducive to taking time to catch our breath. I had trouble controlling myself with Wes so close. Thankfully, he seemed to have the same problem with me, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. We’d wandered towards the street looking for somewhere to go (holding hands, his arm over my shoulders and mine around his waist) and when we got there, I’d spotted a house clearly numbered twenty-four. Which had reminded me of my conversation with Lorne.

So I’d dragged Wesley along the street, insisting where we were going was a surprise, and had been _very _pleased to discover a restaurant dedicated entirely to desserts and cocktails. Sometimes life really did give you lemons. And I’d made lemonade.

I kicked off my shoes under the table and moved to rest my feet in Wesley’s lap. His smile widened. “Problem?” I queried.

“Not at all.” Wesley grinned. “Except we’re going to have to order more desserts soon.”

“What? That’s crazy talk.” I shook my head, gesturing to the plates in front of us. “There’s like, half of each one left.”

Wesley glanced meaningfully to the end of the table stacked with empty dessert plates. “I give these desserts three minutes to live. Tops.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t eat so much, they’d last longer.” I smiled sweetly, entirely aware that I’d eaten at least double what Wesley had.

He laughed and shook his head, smiling broadly at me. “No more dessert for me, then.”

“Wow.” I leaned forward, grinning. “You’re _easy._” 

“On the eyes?”

“Oh, most definitely.” I smiled, allowing myself to run my eyes over him for a moment, now that I didn’t have to feel guilty for doing it. “But that wasn’t what I-”

“I know what you meant.” Wesley darted in to bite my lip, then pulled back ever so slightly. “I’m easy, am I?”

“No. That’s ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.” I leaned in and Wesley moved _back_ away from me. I pouted at him and he grinned.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to be _easy_. Maybe I should make it a little more difficult for you. Maybe I should make you work for it.”

I made my eyes go wide and pleading, pouting in a disappointed kind of way, and batted my eyelashes at him. “Please?”

Wesley twitched slightly and remained sitting where he was. I squeezed his hand and sighed loudly, letting myself sag in my seat, trembling my lower lip and-

Wesley crossed the space between us in a heartbeat and kissed me. I kissed him back. “I’m easy.” Wesley said quietly, then squeezed my hand. “But only for you.”

“I know.” I cupped his cheek and smiled. “And I think you should help me finish our desserts.”

“Really? I have permission to eat again?” Wesley grinned.

“You do.” I nodded to the counter. “But only because I have a feeling we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

The proprietor was sitting facing in the opposite direction from us, staring resolutely at a recipe book, knuckles white where he was gripping it. The rest of the place was empty. “Your wish, my command.” Wesley bowed his head and made a start on the brownie while I attacked the chocolate cake. Obviously, we indulged each other with the occasional (well, it was practically every other bite) morsel from our own plate, and with kisses every so often. I was very pleased to note that Wesley now tasted a little like chocolate, which was a nice addition to his various other flavours.

“I’ll get the bill.” Wesley waved towards the counter. 

I grabbed his hand and slammed it down onto the table. “You will _not._” I flicked his nose. “I ate two thirds of the dessert, so I will take two thirds of the bill.”

“Ah, but I chose half the desserts. And I chose to feed you more of mine than I ate of yours, so the fault is all mine. We’ll go halves.”

“Eugh, maths?” I did a fake shudder and grinned. “Can’t stand the thought of it. I’ll just get the tab.”

“No you won’t.” Wesley grinned.

“Whyever not?” I raised an eyebrow.

Wesley leaned in and whispered. “Because I believe you left your purse at home on the counter.”

I stiffened. Oh. Right. I had no pockets, and was not carrying a handbag. Hmm.

“Wesley, can I please borrow…” The bill was put down and I peered at it. Yikes. Good thing I was rich. “A hundred dollars please?”

“Hmm.” Wesley stroked his chin, eyes gleaming. “No.”

I folded my arms, glaring at the receipt. This was so unfair! I wanted to split it! It wasn’t fair that Wesley paid for it, I could-

“But you can borrow fifty dollars.” Wesley slid his wallet over to me and smiled crookedly. “How’s that?”

My smile was back. “_Perfect_.”

“Would you like to borrow fifty-five, so we can both tip him a little for our… antics?” Wesley suggested, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Sounds good!” Wesley put down fifty-five dollars, then handed me his wallet. I removed fifty-five dollars and put them down, handed back his wallet, removed my feet from his lap, slid back into my shoes, and stood up, stretching.

“Fred, wait.” I turned to face Wesley. He frowned at me thoughtfully, one thumb coming up to brush my cheek. “You’ve just got a little bit of something… right there…” I rolled my eyes as he bent down to kiss me, but enjoyed it all the same.

Later than I’d intended - and only after some very meaningful coughing from the owner - we wandered out, hand-in-hand, to stay on the pavement. “So, where to now?” Wesley asked, squeezing my hand. I deliberated internally. Because there were three options.

Option one was we called it a night. Long kiss, longer hug, even longer kiss, and we parted for the night, with promises to go out for breakfast in the morning and spend the whole day together. I didn’t really like option 1, mainly because of the parting thing.

Option two was we stayed out. Found a bar, or a club, or anywhere to go just to stay together. Stayed out until the early hours of the morning, when we could stumble back home (or, more accurately, we’d stumble back to my place at which point Wesley would insist on excusing himself and stumble back to his), yawning and exhausted, but very happy.

Option three was we caught a cab back to my place. And did _not_ call it a night. Maybe we just stayed up and drank coffee, and watched TV, and talked, and played board games. Or maybe we stayed up and did other things. It depended on what Wes wanted (because, personally, I was rather keen to have my wicked way with him).

What did Wes want? What should I suggest? Long walk home and long goodbyes? Wander out into the night in search of shared adventure? Or catch a cab back home, for things yet to be decided. I gazed around searching for inspiration.

A cab was idling on the street maybe twenty metres away from us. The licence plate was 4YQT 881. 

Lorne, you mad genius.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I suggested, smiling at Wesley. “I’ve got movies, coffee, drinks, a comfy sofa with blankets and cushions, games, desserts…” A _bed_. But Wes didn’t need to know about that right now. Couldn’t have him going all English and proper on me. Any other day. Not tonight.

“Sounds delightful.” Wesley smiled. He was very handsome when he did that. I stood up on tiptoes to kiss him, and began pulling him towards the cab.

“Fred, there’s a cab right here.” Wesley tugged me towards one ten metres in the other direction and I shook my head firmly: I was taking _no _chances.

“We’re getting _this_ one.” I said firmly, marching up to the cab with the correct licence plate. “No discussion.”

Wesley looked at me for a long moment. It made me feel all fuzzy and warm. “Keep your secrets, Fred.” He purred, kissing my cheek. “They make you very mysterious and alluring.”

“_Alluring.”_ A different kind of warmth ran through me abruptly. “That one I like.” 

I pulled Wesley into the cab and closed the door behind me. I told the driver the address, then moved on to the task of showing Wesley just how alluring I could be. 

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“I don’t want to move.” Fred sighed, snuggling up more tightly against me under the blanket. “Can’t we just… I don’t know, it’s a comfy sofa. Fit for long-term habitation.”

“It certainly is.” I rubbed the back of her head (her hair was so soft) and she made an appreciative noise in response. “But eating would be hard.”

“We can order in food.” Fred kissed my neck and I shuddered. “We’re rich now, remember?”

“Again with _rich_.” I mused. “It feels like it would be a good idea to try and make that money last.”

“I know.” Fred changed position slightly and I shifted in response, trying desperately not to let her feel quite how… ah… excited being tangled up with her on the sofa on the past couple of hours had made me. “Maybe not _forever_ on the sofa then.” She yawned. It was quite infectious. I yawned too.

“Gosh, what time is it?” Fred mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut, and curling in on herself.

“It’s just past two in the morning.” I kissed her forehead.

“When did it get so late?” She complained.

I smiled. “I think it was sometime between our game of Catan, and the end of that romcom we watched.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Fred frowned, one eye opening. “How did that end anyway?”

“No idea.” I stroked her cheek gently. “I wasn’t paying attention at all.”

Personally, I didn’t hold myself accountable for that. Fred had commanded me to get drinks and ice cream and dashed off. I’d set up the movie, fetched the drinks and dessert, and Fred had materialised out of her bedroom with a huge blanket, gesturing excitedly at the sofa. At which point I’d put down the drinks and jumped down.

Then she’d clambered onto the sofa so she was lying partially on top of me with both of us under the blanket and asked me to press play. And tried as I might to watch the film, I kept getting distracted. By a loose curl of hair, an errant bit of ice cream, the particular shade of chocolate brown in her eyes, her kissing me and running her hands all over me…

That last one had been a particular challenge. Especially as it had lasted quite a while. Even by our standards.

“I’d have been a little bit disappointed if you were.” Fred admitted, smiling mischievously - I’d come to especially appreciate that particular smile, and what it usually tended to precede - and tugging me into a heated kiss. “Mmm. Important question.”

“Ask away.” I gasped between two kisses. Fred unfastened her lips from mine with what seemed like great reluctance. She was straddling me on the sofa, eyes dark, her face inches from mine, those lovely dark curls tumbling all over and around me. 

“Would you please stay with me tonight?” Fred cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead. “Please?”

A thousand enticing mental scenarios rushed in front of me and I flushed. “Are… are you sure you don’t want me to go home?”

“Absolutely, positively sure.” Fred smiled, twirling a few strands of her hair enticingly around a fingertip. 

“I don’t mind.” I said weakly as Fred began to kiss my neck. I swallowed. “I… if you want me to go it’s… really I’d be fine… you don’t have to on my account…”

“Oh, I definitely don’t.” Fred looked up and smiled. “I’m asking you for entirely selfish reasons.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “So… you would prefer it if I stayed? Ceteris paribus?”

“Yes, I would.” Fred wriggled on top of me for a moment, adjusting her position slightly, and I suppressed a whimper. “Would you like that?”

“Ah. Very much.” I swallowed. “Very, very much.”

“Perfect.” Fred beamed, tapping my bare chest thoughtfully. “Just one more question then.”

“Of course.” I nodded. It couldn’t be any more difficult than the question she’d just asked.

“Would you prefer cuddling and sleeping…” Fred smiled and whispered. “Or the other thing?”

“The other…?” I flushed bright red. Oh. Oh. She was offering… oh. “Oh.”

“Mmm.” Fred smiled meaningfully, toying suggestively with the buttons of her blouse. 

I swallowed. I… I needed fresh air. Cold water. And an opportunity to think clearly and rationally. None of which were likely to be forthcoming in my current position. 

“Which…” My voice sounded very quiet and distant. “Which would you prefer?”

“The second one.” Fred smiled. “Wes… we’ve known each other for almost three years. And you’ve thought this way about me for two and a half of those… and I thought about you in this way but was in denial about it for like a year and a half… and I’ve been unbearably heartsick for you for months and months now… I’m ready.”

I nodded, swallowing. How to put this…

“Plus, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t _very_ curious to know what it’s gonna be like. Because going by the kisses…” Fred kissed me chastely. “I’m thinking serious fireworks.”

“I… I’m just not sure that I’m… I’m not sure tonight is the moment.” I swallowed. “I’m… I don’t want to rush this.”

“Cuddling and sleeping then?” Fred smiled, in a very understanding way.

“Yes, please.”

“I look forward to it.” Fred kissed me on the cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed. Would you grab us each a glass of water and bring it through?”  
“Of course.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” _Sweetie_. Fred kissed my nose, smiled, and stood up. Then stretched. Quite elaborately. She started walking to the bedroom, facing away from me, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Wesley,” She turned around to face me, and shrugged off the blouse.

“Amugah?” I managed.

“Water please.” She beamed at me innocently. 

“Yes. Yes. Right. On it.” I nodded, ripped my eyes away from her and went to get water. I returned to the bedroom door with two mugs and knocked on the door with my foot.

“You can come in!” 

I reached for the door handle but caution stayed my hand. “Are you dressed?”

“Spoilsport. Half.”

My brain entirely unhelpfully supplied two very distinct and equally engaging mental images. I resisted the urge to ask which was more accurate. “Tell me when you’re done.”

A gap of a few seconds. “Done.”

I pushed open the door and advanced nervously into the bedroom. The ensuite bathroom door was closed. “I’ll just be a minute! About to brush my teeth!” Fred called out from inside. I nodded sagely, setting a mental reminder to brush my teeth first thing in the morning as soon as I could get back to my apartment to do so.

I set one mug down on each bedside table and frowned: which side would Fred prefer to sleep on? 

God, I was about to spend the night in Fred’s bed. When had that happened? My mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. I drank half of the nearest glass of water, and slipped under the covers on that side of the bed. The ensuite bathroom door opened behind me. 

“You forgot to close the curtains.” Fred’s voice admonished gently from behind me.

I sat up and began to move. “I’ll get-”

“No, don’t be silly, I’m already standing up.” Fred padded over to the curtains, began to close them, and turned to face me midway through. She raised an elegant eyebrow.

I picked my jaw up off the floor. “I… your… I like your sleepwear.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Fred pinched one edge of the decidedly lacy nightgown and shrugged in a way that rearranged parts of her in a decidedly magical way. She smiled at me. “Thank you.”

“Ah. Old.” I nodded, private thinking it looked nothing of the sort. “That’s where the rest of it is, then? The ah… other… say, sixty percent of the material frayed away?”

“Oh, no, I bought it like this.” Fred shrugged again (she _had_ to know what that was doing to her anatomy). “This is just my preferred style of sleepwear.”

“Ah.” I privately thought that I rather liked this kind of sleepwear too.

“It’s comfy.” Fred closed the curtains and padded round to her side of the bed. “Sufficiently hugging but also loose, nice and airy, and very easy to put on.”

She cuddled up impossibly close to me, moulding herself to my shape, and gently wrapped her arms around me. “Or to take off.”

I whimpered.

  
“What, no kiss goodnight?” Fred smiled at me.

I kissed her tenderly, lovingly. “Goodnight, Fred. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Fred smiled at me. “And I’d say see you in the morning but… well. I intend to do a lot more than just see you.” She kissed me chastely and rolled over to face away from me, closing her eyes as she did so.

I closed my eyes, hugged her closer, and buried my face in her hair.

It was the best night’s sleep I’d ever gotten.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been awake for. I was half-awake, really. Eyes stubbornly closed, the room dim enough that it wasn’t bothering me. Tucked up under a duvet. Very cosy. And close to someone very very warm. 

I heard a rustling and felt the covers moving.

I extended my arms and wrapped them around Wes from behind, scooting up behind him. “No.” I murmured, burying my face in the hair on the back of his head.

“No?” He sounded confused. Bless.

I kissed at him blindly. I think I got the back of his neck. That would do. “Nuh-uh.” I smooched some more in the same spot and wriggled tighter against him. _So_ very warm. “You’re not allowed to get up. You’re my prisoner.”

“I see.” I could hear the smile on his face. 

“Wes?”

“Hmm?”

“If I let you turn around do you promise to kiss me?”

“I do.” I loosened my grip slightly. I felt him turn around. I drew a deep breath.

He kissed me. My heart began to race and I kissed him in return, eyes still closed, squeezing him tightly. One of his hands came up to cup my cheek, a few fingers tangled in my hair and I shivered pleasantly. A shiver that became a shudder when I felt his other hand on my lower back. “You’re even cuter than normal half-asleep.” Wesley murmured. “I hadn’t thought that would be possible.”

Where was he… “Say something more.”

“You’re warm."  
Aha! “Found you!” I declared and lunged forwards, capturing him in a kiss. “I’d be such a great bat.”

“Mmhmm.” Wesley sounded decidedly indulgent. I decided I quite liked that. 

“Indulge me.” I smiled.

“With anything in particular?”

“Just generally, please.” I smiled.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

I purred contentedly and rubbed our noses together for a moment, then rested my forehead on his.

“I miss your eyes.” Wesley mused, kissing my cheek.

I shook my head firmly. “I’m not opening them. Then this’ll turn out to be a dream.”

“Promise it won’t.” Wes raised my hand to his mouth and kissed it. That felt lovely.

“But I’m tired.” I sighed dramatically.

“Then I can wait.” He kissed me again.

“Thanks.” I rested my head on his chest. His hand twined slightly more tightly into my hair. I decidedly liked it. “If you could have one thing of me, any one thing, right now, what would you have?”

“I want to hold your hand.” Wesley murmured. I gave him my hand. He squeezed it.

“You’re really, really sweet, you know that?” I smiled. 

“I seem to remember you loving sweet things. All manner of.”

“I do.” I squeezed him tighter with my one remaining hand.

“If you could have one thing of me, what would you have?” Wes kissed my cheek.

Well. There was the obvious…

No, that would ruin this. This was lovely. Besides, it wasn’t what I most wanted.

“Tell me something about me that I don’t know.” I snuggled up to him.

A momentary pause. “Everything about you is lovable.”

“That’s not true.” I huffed. “It has to be a _true_ thing.”

“It’s true.”

“My appetite!”

“Adorable.”

“Babbling!”

“Beyond cute.”

“My over-competitiveness!”

Wesley kissed me. At length. “Alluring.” He purred. Still very close by. I shuddered.

“Gosh, I need to get you chipped or something.” I frowned. “Before a horde of other women come to steal you away.” 

Wesley laughed softly against me. 

“I’m serious.” I warned him.

“How about if we stay in bed? Will that assuage your fears?”

“Most definitely. Though I’d say more alleviate than assuage.”

“Mm.” We kissed a lot more.

“Wes?”

“Fred?”

“Am I pointed in your direction?”

“Not exactly.”

“Tilt my head so I’m looking at you please.”

His hand moved under my chin and gently shifted my head up a few degrees. “Done.”

I opened my eyes. With the soft early morning light washing over him, hair messy, sky-blue eyes twinkling with mirth… He’d never ever been more handsome. I was sure of it. “I wanted you to be the first thing I saw.” I confessed, breathless. I kissed him. “Mm. Seeing makes that easier.”

“Strange that.”

“Shush. Just kiss me.”

“Mm.”

“Better.”

I crawled on top of him - he was so warm - and began to pepper his face with gentle kisses. “Your stubble is scratchy.” I mused.

“Oh.” One of his hands instantly went to his chin. “I-”

“It’s nice. Tickles.” I reassured him, kissing his nose a few times from different angles.

“Ah.” I fastened my lips onto his and kissed him as long as I possibly could.

I gasped for air as I drew away, breathing heavily.

“Your lips are so soft.” Wesley murmured, kissing my cheek. “I could kiss you all day.”

“Please do.” I smiled, stretching and enjoying the tingling feelings. “Although… there’s other parts of me that are soft too you know…”

“I love you.” Wesley cupped my cheek and made eye contact as he squeezed my hand. His smile was shy. Eyes soft.

“I love you too.” I promised, and kissed him.

This time, something was different. There was even more heat behind it, more _need_. His hands moved off my cheek and slipped out of mine respectively, and slid up and down my sides. I wrapped my arms firmly around him and squeezed him as tightly against me as I could. Kiss followed kiss followed kiss, each more intense, more passionate, and less fulfilling than the last. Each just made me want more, made me _need_ more.

Wesley cupped my breast and squeezed gently, fingertips stroking tenderly. I let out an unearthly moan and moved my hands to fiddle with the straps, to remove-

Wesley’s hands caught mine, and he gently broke off the kiss. “Please no.” He murmured, eyes dark with lust.

“Oh.” My heart pounded against my ribcage. “But… why… Wes, I need-”

“Let me?” And just like that his eyes were soft again, pleading,

“Yes.” I whispered. “Oh my, yes. Yes yes yes.”

“May I take my time?” Wesley kissed me chastely. “We have both been waiting a very long time for this.”

I whimpered. “Yes.”

He took his time. He took _so_ much time. I was quite convinced, upon later reflection, that there wasn’t a square inch of my skin he hadn’t kissed or stroked over the course of that morning. I felt treasured, adored, and loved.

And the anticipation of all those long months, brought to new heights in that final stretch, only made what followed all the better.

Which was _really_ saying something.

\+ + + + + + +

**Gunn**

“Hey, Matt Murdoch, got another load of cases for you.” Anne walked into the room, carrying a huge stack of papers. 

“In-tray, please. Thanks.” I looked at the pile apprehensively. No legal documents. My clients didn’t give me legal documents. They wrote letters. Explaining their situation, asking if I could help. That was the kind of legal work I did now.

Strictly pro bono. Well, with a small caveat. I encouraged people I helped to lend a hand around the shelter, or to volunteer for charity elsewhere. People were usually more than happy to pay it forwards.

“Whatcha working on?” Anne leaned forwards over the desk, peering at my. work.

“Opening statement. Trying to get a case thrown out.” I shook my head and sighed. “A kid got tangled up in something he didn’t even realise was going on, and now they want to throw the book at him.”

“Good thing you’ve got a hell of a catching mitt.” Anne tapped the side of her head meaningfully. “Greatest legal mind of the generation.”

“Yeah, obviously. That’s why I’m working out of this corner office.” I grinned, indicating my pokey, stuffy, windowless office on the second floor of Anne’s homeless shelter with a sweep of my arm.

“Well, it might not be a corner office.” Anne lingered in front of the desk. “But you’re doing _real_ good here. You kept a family from getting evicted over some bullshit by that son-of-a-bitch landlord. You scared that company so much with the threat of a class action lawsuit they actually cleaned up their act. You’ve kept people out of jail who don’t deserve to be there, and helped people use the law to help themselves.”

“And because I’m not being paid, my non-compete doesn’t apply.” I grinned. “Bastards obviously didn’t consider that I’d work for free.”

“Yeah.” Anne raised an eyebrow. “Remind me again how you ended up signing a non-competewith and working for Wolfram and Hart, Phoenix Wright?”

“As soon as I’ve read these letters, dealt with nine court cases, filed seventeen documents, and dealt with the backlog.”

“Now that would take some time management wizardry, Atticus Finch.”

“I know a guy who’s good at that stuff.” I smiled, leaning back in my chair.

“Time management?”

“Wizardry.” I grinned. I hadn’t seen much of Fred and Wes recently. I’d been busy with work, and they’d been _very_ busy with each other. According to Lorne - and I didn’t know if he was exaggerating or not - they hadn’t left Fred’s apartment for five days straight at one point. 

Good for them. Alas, the law was my mistress, and she was a cruel thing that demanded all my time.

“Yeah, whatever, Jan Schlichtmann.” Anne stood up and headed for the door. She turned at the last second. “And you don’t miss it? The power, the respect, the money, the name?”

“Not even a bit.” I grinned. “I confused myself. I never needed Wolfram and Hart at my back to do good. I just needed to be _me._” The law helped. It was my weapon. But I wielded it.

I was going good. And I was gonna keep doing it, long as I could. I’d told Angel before he raced after Buffy that if the Scoobies ever needed a lawyer, I was their guy. He’d promised to pass along the message. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, actually. Maybe I should check up on him…

“Well, get back to it then, Matt Murdock. World’s not gonna save itself.”

“You already used that one!” I called after her. “I win this round!” 

Anne laughed as she closed the door. I dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s on my opening statement and nodded approvingly, moving it to one side. I opened the oldest envelope on my pile, and began brainstorming how the heck I was gonna keep an animal welfare centre built on land it didn’t own from getting torn down by the corporate that did own it.

Five minutes later, I had a plan. Ten more, and it was bulletproof. Twenty seconds after that, I was on the next case. 

I’d never felt more alive, or like I was doing more good.

\+ + + + + + +

**Fred**

“We should go on holiday.” I smiled. “A romantic getaway.”

“Do we need to go somewhere else to be romantic?” Wesley asked, shifting his elbow onto the pillow and propping his head up. He smiled. “I think we’ve both made quite a multitude of romantic gestures, haven’t we?”

“Oh, we have.” I smiled, closing my eyes to reminisce. “Every day’s been very romantic. And I do seem to recall showing my appreciation for your particularly impressive gestures.”

“Oh, I remember.” 

I gasped as Wesley began pressing kisses to my collarbone. “Wes, wait!” I shuffled upright on the bed, hugging the duvet to my chin and trying to look serious. “First we talk holiday, then we can-”

“Oh, if you’re absolutely sure you want to have a discussion first, I can do that.” Wesley joined me in mostly being upright, smiling warmly.

My Wesley-sense tingled. There was a trick here.

“Maybe fetch some tea.” I stifled a gasp as I felt his hand on my thigh and glanced down: he’d snuck both hands under the duvet. But I could only feel one, which meant that-

His other hand materialised on my hip and I groaned softly as both hands began to trail further upwards.Focusing on his words was becoming increasingly challenging. “Talk about the fine detail. Discuss destinations, accommodation, travel arrangements, holiday insurance, and-”

I lost any semblance of control and dived on him, discarding the duvet.

\+ + + + + + +

**Wesley**

“So…” I squeezed Fred more tightly against me - and was rewarded with a truly wonderful smile in response - as she began to talk. “Holiday plans.”

“God, you’re remarkably tenacious.” I grinned at her. 

“Oh, don’t you know it.” Fred smiled sultrily and blew me a kiss. Then leaned over and kissed me deeply. “Mm. Where do you want to go?”

“Depends on when you were thinking of going.” I kissed Fred’s cheek and rubbed her back.

“Tomorrow?” Fred smiled hopefully, the kind of smile she _knew_ I couldn’t say no to.

“Well, since we’re going tomorrow…” I rubbed my nose against hers (and delighted at the smile she wore in response to my acceptance of going on holiday tomorrow). “I want to go somewhere with almost nothing to see. No landmarks, no historically significant sites. Nada.”

“That’s a curveball.” Fred raised an eyebrow. “No cultural and historical tour of Asia or Europe?”

“If we go somewhere with lots of things to see, it’ll mean more time in public areas.” I murmured. “And less time doing… this.” I kissed her passionately, moving my hands to rest on her waist. “Among other things.”

“Sounds lovely to me.” Fred smiled, then frowned. “What do you call a honeymoon when you’re not married?”

“Good question.” I paused for thought. “A romantic weekend?”

“No, that doesn’t work when it’s a month-long holiday.” Fred frowned. I couldn’t help but smile: so devious of her to so casually, seamlessly insert her preferred length of holiday into the conversation. It was a genius negotiating tactic. Pointless here, though, as I had no intention of disagreeing with her on anything. Fred had never left the US before. Wherever she wanted to go, I’d go with her. Anywhere at all.

“I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound inelegant, and entirely unfit to describe the depth of my feelings for you.” Fred beamed at me and I bent in to rub my nose gently against hers. “So. We’re going for a month. Perhaps someplace cold?”

“Why would you want to go someplace cold?” Fred frowned, in that lovely way she did that made her look slightly perplexed and ever so cute, with her nose slightly scrunched, and that flame of curiosity piqued in her beautiful eyes.

“I’m imagining a remote, isolated cabin in the wilderness.” I kissed her cheek. “Ten feet of snow. Walks through alpine forests, and over frozen lakes, just the two of us. You all bundled up in a coat, gloves, scarf, and hat, looking so impossibly _cute_ that it will bring me unmatched physical _joy_ just to look at you.”

Fred flushed slightly pink and smiled.

I continued. “And the cabin… stocked with dozens upon dozens of books to read together, games to play, films to watch, a lifetime supply of desserts, comfortable furniture, a roaring fire…”

“And just cold enough that we have to cuddle together ever so closely for warmth at night?” Fred bit her lip and raised an eyebrow at me. “Isolated enough that we can do whatever we want, any time, at any volume, and never have to worry about intrusions or decorum?”

“That may have factored into my judgement. Just a little.” 

“How much?” Fred smiled playfully.

“A lot.” I admitted and kissed her. “What can I say? You’re too attractive. I can’t keep my mind off you.”

“Or your eyes.” Fred kissed my nose, grinning.

“Mm, true, but you have the same problem.” I shrugged.

“Well, that’s your fault for being all muscly, well-defined, and classically handsome.” Fred shrugged. “What’s a girl to do when a guy like that is walking around all the time?”

“Whatever she wants.” I smiled. “If you were wondering.”

“I am _so_ going to hold you to that.”

“Hold me against anything, any time you want.” I growled. “As long as I’m allowed to do the same.”

“You are.” Fred murmured. “You… so definitely are. But… hang on… counter-offer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Whatever the counter-offer is to what you just said, the answer is no.”

Fred giggled, swatting at me playfully. “Not to that, silly! Counter-offer to the holiday idea.”

“I’m listening.” I always was. She was very worth listening to. Especially when she was using that. delightful mind of hers to plan romantic getaways for the two of us. “Ah, and the term is ‘Romantic Getaway’."

“Good one.” Fred beamed at me, then took a deep breath. “Okay, Wes. Put your imagination hat on.”

I doffed an imaginary hat. “Check.”

  
“Okay.” Fred smiled excitedly. “I’m imagining… a tropical resort. Gorgeous, luxury hotel: we’re talking a honeymoon suite, coconuts everywhere, mosaic floors, five-star food, luxury _everything_. Palm trees. Sand. The beach. Walks along the beach, exploring rock-pools, sunbathing together, swimming…” It sounded remarkably lovely so far. 

Then it got better. “You’ll be wearing swimming trunks or shorts, and not much else - if you let me have my way. Looking very, very handsome. I’ll be wearing bikinis, or short shorts and croc tops, since it’ll be much too hot to even consider wearing anything more.” My brain informed me excitedly that I’d never seen Fred in a bikini, and that I should take all possible action to ensure I got to, as soon as possible.

“And at night, when it’s too hot to sleep we can sneak out. Go down to the water. Dive in to cool off… and do other things.” Fred smiled at me. “How does _that_ sound?”

I raised a finger. “Lovely. But you do understand that you had me at ‘bikini’, right?”

“_Oh_. Of course I did.” Fred giggled. “Silly me, wasting all that precious oxygen.”

“Perhaps…” I tangled one hand in her hair. “We could have the best of both worlds. Two weeks in tropical paradise… two weeks in our lovers’ cabin.”

“Two and a half in each.” Fred smiled sweetly. “Please?”

“Done.” I nodded, feeling excitement begin to bubble up within me. “We should go tropical first. Easier to find a luxury hotel room in twenty-four hours than a secluded cabin. We can book the cabin one day while we’re in paradise.”

“Good call.” Fred nodded, eyes narrowing, lips pursing. “I’ll call Lorne. He has contacts at those places, he’ll tell us which is the best hotel, with the best rooms, and get us that one.”

“I look forward to it more and more with every passing second.” I told her genuinely, and smiled.

“Ooh! I’m so excited!” Fred smiled happily and clapped her hands together once. I couldn’t help but smile too. God, she was perfect. “That sounds like a dream holiday! Don’t you think?”

“Well, it would have to be.” I shrugged. Fred quirked an eyebrow at me questioningly. I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Seeing as how I’ll be spending every minute of it with the girl of my dreams.”

The kiss that followed was a perfect storm of passion. Followed by even more passionate activity.

“We need to start packing.” Fred closed her eyes and slumped back onto the mattress next to me, breathing heavily. It made her chest rise and fall very captivatingly. I stared. “And booking flights.”

“We still have time.” I frowned. I wasn’t ready to get out of bed yet. “What time is it?”

Fred rolled over - giving me a marvellous view of her back - and let out a surprised noise as she checked the clock. “It’s one-thirty pm.”

“_What?_” I sat up, frowning. “That’s not possible. Where did the time go?”

“I have an idea of how we spent all those hours.” Fred stretched provocatively, smiling at me meaningfully. “But we should get up now. Get ready to pack. And I need to go shopping.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” I nodded, feeling a pang of discontent.

“C’mon. Time’s a wasting.” Fred stood up and padded towards the bathroom, then looked over her delightful bare shoulder at me and grinned. “We still need to get showered before we can do anything else. That could take _ages._”

Any discontent vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by euphoria. “Could take an hour.”

“Easily.” Fred nodded seriously. “Double that, even.”

“You’re perfect.” I whispered. “I love you.”

“I love _you_.” Fred smiled. “And you’re mostly perfect.”

I raised an eyebrow. Fred grinned and crooked one finger. “You’re just imperfect enough to be really, _really_ fun.” Considering our definition of fun, these past few days, I decided I could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe this is almost all uploaded! Or that it's take nearly a year...
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed the ride! Just an epilogue left and this'll be finished. 
> 
> Any thoughts or constructive criticism would be massively appreciated!!!!


	19. Chance Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where ships pass in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this little epilogue is so late! Exams took over my life for a while and I couldn't get this right. Hope you enjoy it regardless!

**Lorne - One Week Ago**

“Fred, everything ready on your end?” Wesley asked, pacing at the end of the bed, looking constantly between the thick folder gripped in one hand, and the ancient-looking tome balanced on his left arm.

“Ready.” Fred reported, eyes filled with a dangerous steel. She clamped the last of the monitoring devices (with perhaps a little more force than necessary) onto Sam and turned back to look the vitals monitor. “Still no sign of any brain activity.”

I swallowed, looking between Wesley (whose expression was dangerously intense), Fred (whose expression was just plain dangerous), and Sam. Sam was lying down in the medical bed, oxygen mask over her mouth, a dozen tubes running in and out of her. Life support. But no hint of any life within her beyond the beating of her heart. The rest of her - her mind, her magic, her memories - was gone, according to Wes. I sure hoped he was right.

“Remind me again why I have to be here?” I swallowed, raising one hand. “Fred has to be here to make sure Sam stays stable and isn’t going to explode with demonic power, you have to be here to actually do the mojo… why am _I _here?”

“You’re our early warning system.” Fred smiled apologetically for all of a half second before the stoniness was back. “So that if she does start coming back all malevolent, you can warn us and we can stop.”  
“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have the best track record with sussing out this particular individual.” I rubbed my neck and swallowed. “I never detected anything, not even a-”

“Lorne, relax.” Wesley smiled encouragingly. “Your presence will doubtless be superfluous.” Fred snorted, not very quietly, and Wesley grimaced. Nobody was happy with this. I mean, sure, it was right, it was _admirable_, but… the risk. Angel, Spike, and Gunn were waiting outside ready to rush in and I still didn’t particularly like our chances against the Dread Empress of Evil if this all went to hell and we ended up bringing her back with this stunt.

“On three.” Wesley put the folder and book down - both face up - on the little table at the end of the bed and reached into his jacket. The book shifted slightly on the table as he put it down and I saw spider legs extend for a moment, before vanishing again. I shuddered. Trust Vail to put the one spell we needed into the creepiest book he had. One of the ones Fredikins had raided from his secret stash, along with the puzzle box.

Wesley withdrew the staff from inside his jacket and levelled it at Sam, expression steely. The gem on the end of the staff was glowing ever so softly, pulsing with something. Something that looked eager to get out. “Atartsita!” Wesley spoke with an impressive air of command. The gem flashed bright for a second then guttered out, and the space between the tip of the staff and the bed seemed to pulse with energy, rippling. The ripples reached Sam after at most a second.

Her body arched up on the bed, the vitals machine going bananas, and I focused all my power on Sam, searching for any hint of consciousness, any suggestion of wickedness. I didn’t see anything. But then, I never had with her.

“Fred, what’s happening?” Wesley asked, snatching up the book and glancing to her.

“Vitals are going crazy.” Fred murmured, peering at the screen. “But she’s stable. Still no sign of any higher brain activity… but I think she could survive without the machines now.”

“Switch them off, then.” Wesley swallowed. “We can’t do the next part until we’ll know she’ll survive without them.”

“Copy that.” Fred flicked a few switches and every machine but the vitals monitor (and the lights, thank goodness) switched off. Sam was settling down where she lay, the vitals machine returning to a steady beep. “She’s going strong.” Fred reported. “She’s ready.”

Wesley swallowed and cleared his throat, wiping some sweat off his forehead. I neither blamed nor envied him. He was about to try to perform one of the hardest spells imaginable, with almost no preparation, because a few hours from now we were going to lose all the resources that made this possible.

Two dozen mystics placed at occultly significant points surrounding the room forming some kind of pattern, all chanting and scattering various dusts, channelling their power here. For Wesley to make use of. Like a conductor with an orchestra. Playing the tune of a lifetime. Sam’s, to be precise.

Her entire life, from start to finish. Minus the homicidal parts. Every second of Vail’s manufactured memories. They’d been torn out of Sam along with her blood by the Partners, leaving behind an empty, living husk. But, with the fragment of her willpower, her very being, trapped in the staff of whatchamacallit, Vail’s spell-book, an accurate catalogue of every memory he’d implanted in her, and an empath demon to help Wesley ride the waves, we might just do it.

Save Sam. The sweet young woman who loved tea and bookshops, and dreamt of being an archaeologist. The precious little thing who tied herself in knots, and was always so kind and thoughtful, who’d never hurt a fly. Without the Partners’ blood in her, and with him influencing the spell, using his memories and perceptions of Sam as he’d seen her to catalyse it… Wesley was sure it would work.

And if _Fred_ was willing to help with this, who was I to refuse?

Wesley began to chant. I closed my eyes, to better monitor the stream of my memories flowing from the spell-book into Sam. I sensed her childhood passing by in a stream of unhappy emotions - Wes had wanted to improve them, poor thing, but there hadn’t been time to create a single new memory, not more than the ones we’d already had to edit out of necessity, we had no idea how long the spell would take! - and winced at the awkwardness of teenage years: the unfortunate combination of intelligence, social awkwardness, and godlike good looks hadn’t done her _any_ favours in making real friends at high school.

Then, the thrill of college. Letting her hair down and having real fun. Making great friends. The invitation to join an archaeological expedition in Egypt that had her squealing with excitement for hours as she raced around her apartment, packing everything she could think of.

The satisfaction of promising finds, of returning home with a feather in her cap, the approval of the professors, and neither sight nor sound of a dangerous mummy or Wolfram and Hart. A few months spent settling back in, writing up research papers, socialising with friends, enjoying herself immensely… and we were up to the present day. Now came the really hard part.

The reality shift.

Wesley slowly raised one hand above his head like he was lifting the weight of a heavily pregnant bull elephant, light bursting out of his palm. “Lorne,” He gasped, looking over at me. “Is… is she… can I…”

I smiled and nodded. “She’s good, Wesley. _All good_, this time. No evil to be found. You did it.”

Utter relief burst onto Wesley’s face, and he closed his hand into a fist. The light vanished in a moment. I would have sworn I felt a slight ripple in the air, the slightest sensation of a breeze. I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the sudden darkness in the room, and looked at the bed.

Sam was gone. Off to her new life. She was probably walking around her apartment right now, humming to herself, and with absolutely no idea that an hour ago she’d been on the verge of death in a hospital bed.

“That… should do it.” Wesley nodded, and slumped forwards.

Fred caught him, deftly guiding him into a chair. “Sit down, Wes. Deep breaths. You did it, well done.” I sensed a burning core of regret within her and winced: she thought he was gonna run off looking for Sam. That he’d done this to be with her. But he hadn’t.

He’d done this to give Sam a chance at a normal, happy life. He could have never lived with himself if he hadn’t done everything he could for her. I should pull Fred aside, tell her that. That Wes wanted to be with her, really. That he always had, even if he hid from it. I began to walk over.

“Lorne!” Wesley looked up at me, gaze slightly feverish. “Don’t… don’t forget… the last part.”

Aw, shucks. Dammit. I’d forgotten. “On my way.” I smiled reassuringly, and bustled out the door. Fred would have to wait. Besides, I was sure she’d figure it out on her own. Brain the size of a planet, after all.

Right now I had to head to an apartment building a young woman was going to walk out of in half an hour, singing absent-mindedly to a song stuck in her head, so I could make sure she was gonna be okay.

Thirty-five minutes later, I was certain that she was.

\+ + + + + + +

**This Morning**

I eyed the books thoughtfully. Hmm. Which one to take with me? The 4th edition had the additional section at the back on irrigation and how it facilitated coercive state control around the Nile, but the 2nd edition went into much more detail about the importance of the priesthood.

We didn’t talk about the 3rd edition. Yuck.

“I suppose I could… take both.” I said slowly, chewing my lip. I glanced down at my satchel and winced, looking back up again. Much too far down. I’d forgotten about the “don’t look down while at the top of the library ladders” rule I’d set myself.

Bad Sam. Very bad.

“Both is better.” I nodded firmly. “And I mean, hey, I can just read the bit on irrigation and then give that edition to Celine, and hold on to the 2nd edition. Both of us win. Yep.” I carefully slid both books off the shelves and placed them very carefully in the satchel slung over my shoulder. Which was almost full. Exclusively with books. What else was I meant to do on the ridiculously long flight to Egypt?

The flight I was going to miss if I didn’t hurry up. Which would be bad, because I couldn’t _miss_ the archaeological expedition, I’d been looking forward to it for months, I couldn’t not go because of my own stupidity and lack of effective time management! Right. Just had to climb down, dash to the front desk, hand in my old library books, take out these new ones, and head for the-

Oh my gosh, was that a _first edition _copy of the comprehensive guide to Ancient Egyptian mythology? I strained my eyes, squinting across the aisle over my shoulder. It _was_. I had to have it. I just had to. I’d just climb down and…

And reposition the ladder, climb back up, climb down, put the ladder back where I got it, and head for the flight? Those seconds could be crucial. I eyed the width of the aisle thoughtfully. Not that far. Surely I could just lean. I leaned, stretching towards the book, fingers brushing the spine-

And _shrieked_ as the ladder leaned with me, away from the bookcase in front of me, leaving me balancing in the middle of the aisle like I was on stilts. I swayed perilously and whimpered. It was a long way down, and a sharp angle, and the damage I did to the books would be unforgivable, not to mention my legs, and I’d miss my flight, and-

“Steady, there.” The ladder abruptly stopped moving and I let out a sigh of relief, glancing down. A dark-haired man with was gripping the ladder tightly, holding it upright and grinning up at me. His smile was decidedly amused.

And also stupidly handsome. I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t wearing a skirt. “Umm…” What did I say? What was the socially acceptable thing to say when you were balancing on top of a ladder as a result of your own silliness, having just been saved by someone you’ve never met, but who was _very_ handsome with lovely curls of hair that were begging to have hands run through them, a gorgeous smile, and soft, twinkling eyes? “Hi.”

I’d said ‘hi’. 

Maybe I should just jump off the ladder.

“Hi, yourself.” His smile widened. “Is it alright if I put you down?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Please! Yes, I would like that, I mean, can’t stay up here forever!” Get ahold of yourself, stop babbling! “Umm, that side of the aisle, please?” I pointed warily to the side with that pesky first edition of the comprehensive guide to Ancient Egyptian mythology.

He bowed his head and carefully moved the ladder so it was back leaning against the bookcase, and in no danger of falling over.

“Thank you!” I plucked the book off the shelf and slid down the ladder, landing on the floor and turning around, brushing a few errant strands of hair out of my eyes. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I’m such a klutz. You totally rescued me.”

“Nonsense, I just grabbed a ladder.” He shrugged. Modest too. Right. Okay. Okay. I was fine. His eyes lit up suddenly. “Is that a _first edition_ guide to Ancient Egyptian mythology?” He murmured, peering at my book.

My stomach did a little backflip. He knew about archaeological literature? Quite a bit, if he could recognise this was the first edition, and understand why that was important. Oh my. “Sure is!” I nodded, offering it to him. “I wouldn’t almost break my neck for just any old book, c’mon.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it, or I’d have to make a habit of wandering around here.”

Please feel free to! I giggled. “So…” I smiled, standing up a little straighter. “What should I call my dashing saviour?”

“Wesley.” Wesley offered his hand. “Wyndam-Pryce. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss…?”

“Jennings. Samantha Jennings, that is, but everyone calls me Sam. Or at least everyone I’ve asked to which is like ninety-six percent of everyone I’ve met and…” Breathe, breathe, don’t freak out, don’t freak out… “… it’s lovely to meet you too.” I smiled at him.

“Sam.” He smiled and dipped his head politely, which did a really good job of zooming my attention right back onto those eyes and that smile. “What brings you here?”

“Books.” I said lamely, shaking my head to clear it, and internally berating myself. _Of course_ I was here for books, this was a library! “I’m going abroad for a while and needed some reading material. Plus, some of these books are actually useful to have on hand.”

“In case you need to bludgeon an elephant to death?” His eyes gleamed, hefting the exceptionally thick book meaningfully, before passing it back to me.

“No!” I giggled slightly, shaking my head. Oh, god, he was _funny_ too, that just wasn’t fair! “No, for work. I’m an archaeologist.”

Wesley looked impressed, which made my stomach do a funny little movement. His eyes swept me for a moment and I swallowed, brushing some hair behind my shoulders. I was’t dressed up at all, these were travelling clothes, I must look a mess and-

“Where’s your hat and whip?” He raised an eyebrow, starting to walk.

I walked with him, grateful he was heading back towards the front desk. I did still have a flight to catch but… well… that somehow seemed less important than _this._

“Oh, I left them in the last underground temple I raided.” I shrugged. “There just wasn’t room for them once I stuffed all the gold and jewels into my bag.” Wesley chuckled and I punched the air internally. Laughing _with_ me, not _at_ me. 

This was exciting. 

“So, what do you do?” I raised an eyebrow. “And what brings you here to this library, excluding the call of damsels in moderate distress?”

“I was fired very recently, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I frowned up at him. “I… I didn’t mean to touch a nerve, I swear, I was just-”

“Don’t worry about it. I was sort of glad to be fired.” He smiled ruefully. “Being research director was fun, but… well, the workplace was a little too dangerous for my liking.”

  
“Office politics?” I nodded sympathetically, shuddering at the thought of all the rivalries back at Harvard. Yikes, it had been a minefield every day.

“Something like that.” He nodded.

“So you came here because?” I asked, for want of anything else to say. “Business or pleasure?”

“Necessity.” He shrugged. “I had… there were some things I had to take care of. Books to return, dues to pay, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, book fines. Yikes, this place does scalp you with those.” I shook my head firmly. “They’re just awful with them. It’s a shame they’re the best library in the city for this kind of stuff.”

“That can come in handy sometimes. Helps you find what you’re looking for.”

“That’s true enough.” I nodded, swallowing. “So… umm… where are you going after this?”

“The airport, actually. I have a flight to catch.” Wesley smiled. “Yourself?”

“I’m going to the airport too!” I beamed. “Wow, what are the odds?”

“Long Beach airport?” Wesley looked surprised. I felt myself physically deflate.

“Oh. No, no, the… LA international airport.” _Of course_ it couldn’t go that smoothly. I realised with a start we’d reached the desk and smiled at the librarian (whom I didn’t recognise), before heaving a pile of books out of my bag and sorting them into returns and new loans.

“Hi!” I beamed, waving. “These to return, these to take out.”

“Shush.” She glared at me and I wilted, folding my arms. She began to scan and return the first book improbably slowly.

Which at least gave me some time to work up some courage. Okay. We were going to be flying to completely opposite sides of the world most likely, so. So. All I had to do was enquire about when he might be back, give him my number and… and suggest we do coffee sometime when we were both back. Easy. So Easy. Except not at all.

I swallowed. Celine was always saying I had to put myself out there more, that I was lovely, pretty, and any guy would be lucky to have me. Which is what _every_ best friend said to every other best friend and it probably wasn’t even a little true in my case but… well, I kind of felt like we’d really hit it off. Wesley was really great, smart, handsome, nice and… and I wanted to see him again.

“So, where are you flying to?” I smiled, keeping my voice low so the mean librarian wouldn’t shush me again.

“Hawaii.” He smiled. “Egypt for you?”  
“Yep.” I smiled. God, I was looking forward to it. A couple more months spent out there, uncovering secrets, gaining experience… “You don’t seem like a Hawaii kind of guy, pardon my guessing.”

“Maybe not. I didn’t pick it.” I raised an eyebrow. If he hadn’t chosen it, then who- “Fred chose it.”

“Fred?” I smiled. Aww, that was lovely. A holiday with a friend and he’d let them pick the spot, that was so-

“Short for Winifred.” He smiled fondly, eyes going slightly vacant. My stomach dropped. 

Of course he was taken. How could Wesley _not_ be taken, he was perfect?

“She seems very special.” I forced a smile.

“I haven’t told you anything about her.” Wesley frowned.

“The dopey smile you got just from saying her name kinda gave it away.” I whispered conspiratorially. Wesley flushed, looking at his feet. That was really sweet. Even if ‘Fred’ was kind of a ridiculous name, I mean, just go by _Winifred_, that’s what you’re really called, ‘Fred’ just sounds _silly_.

God, I had to get out of here. Before I did something really silly. Or missed my flight!

I spun back to face the librarian and blanched: she’d done all of _three _books. The fourth was making its way impossibly slowly across the scanner.

“Hi.” I smiled at her. She grunted. “I’m, umm… I’m sorry to bother you but I kind of have a flight to get to quite soon, and I’m already running late, is there any chance you could-”

“No.”

“But-”

“This takes time.” She stopped moving the book and looked up at me scornfully. “Do you want me to argue with you, or keep scanning?”

I swallowed and mimed zipping my mouth closed, looking nervously at the pile of books still to be scanned. She was doing this deliberately slowly! And I really didn’t have much time, this was a disaster, if I missed my flight I was gonna-

I heard a crash from behind me and spun around, clamping my hand over my mouth in shock. The lowest shelf on one of the bookcases had snapped clean in two, books spilling all over the floor. Nobody was anywhere near it. It must have been really old, or-

“Dammit!” The librarian snarled. The rest of my books moved over the scanner in a flash and she shoved my new loans towards me without a word, bustling towards the site of the fallen books. Wow. That was convenient.

“Sam,” I turned to face Wesley, who was holding a book that looked due to be returned. He smiled broadly at me… but it looked kind of tight. Had I done something? “It’s been really wonderful.”

“Thanks, Wesley.” I smiled, banishing my last thought. It had been wonderful. “It was really lovely meeting you too!” I sprinted from the library, forcing myself not to look back as I ran. I knew if I looked back, I would have done something very stupid.

\+ + + + + + +

**Sam**

“They’re all taken!” I huffed, folding my arms and sitting down in the window seat. “_All_ the good ones are taken, I swear.”

“Sam, take a chill pill.” Celine shut the overhead locker and sat down gracefully in her aisle seat, raising an eyebrow at me. “You met this guy for all of five minutes in a library. No big deal.”

“I had _such_ a good feeling about him!” I was whining, but I _deserved_ a little whine. It was so unfair! “He could have been the one!”

“Sam, Sam, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” Celine smiled comfortingly, leaning across the middle seat to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly.

“Love me and treasure me?” I said hopefully.

“Obviously. What else are friends for?” Celine booped my nose gently and I squirmed away, laughing. “I meant about you being tragically single.”

“Oh, way to rub it in.” I pouted at her. “Just because you have an _amazing_ girlfriend doesn’t mean you get to mock all of us single…” Actually, that kind of _was_ how it worked, wasn’t it?

“I do when the person in question has no business being single.” Celine grinned. “You are insanely clever-” I snorted. “Incredibly sweet, funny, engaging…”

Celine smiled wickedly. “And, take it from somebody as straight as cooked spaghetti, you are crazy stupid beautiful.”

“Thanks, that’s really sweet.” I frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe I should date girls? That seems much nicer and easier.”  
“That’s a sign you _shouldn’t_ be dating girls. Whichever one’s harder is probably the one you really want.” Celine turned to rummage in her rucksack. “Besides, I have enough trouble soothing my _amazing girlfriend’s _worries about my gorgeous best friend already, I really don’t need her finding out you’re experimenting.”

“Ok, those are both fair comments.” I chewed my lip thoughtfully, brightening as I saw what book she’d taken out. “You like it then?”  
“The fourth edition? Duh. Almost worth being late for the flight.” Celine smacked her lips, winking. “Sweet, sweet secrets of irrigation coming my way.” I laughed, beaming. At least I’d managed to make one person happy today. I pulled out my second edition copy, took out my bookmark, and started to read.

I heard a voice in the background, but the internal temple politics was getting to the _really_ gripping part so I did my best to tune it out.

New voice. “Ah. I must have misprinted my ticket.” 

“Let me see.” Celine. “Hmm. Nope. She’s just a bit… floaty sometimes. And she likes window seats. Must have not checked her ticket properly.”

“Ah, I see. Well, no matter, I can just-” Who was she talking to?

“Pardon me?” I looked up from my book and smiled. Celine had put away her book and was looking at me expectantly, beaming. The overhead locker was down, and I could see some guy’s lower half indicating he was stowing his luggage. What was that about?

“You’re in the wrong seat.” Celine rolled her eyes. “He’s got the window.”

“Oh my gosh!” I gasped, unbuckling my seatbelt. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Really.” The locker closed again, revealing a smartly dressed bespectacled young man - khakis and a nice shirt - standing at the entrance to my aisle. He smiled reassuringly. 

He was quite handsome. And his voice…

“Are you… British?” I couldn’t resist asking. He had such a British accent, ultra-refined and all… y’know…

“Born and raised.” He adjusted his glasses, swallowing. “Since you’re already sat down, I’m happy to take the middle seat.”

“Gosh, no!” I shook my head. Right. I’d sat in his seat. _Why?!_ “No, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Pfft. Windows. Extremely overrated in my humble opinion. Nonsense things. That one’s not even glass.” He shuffled past Celine to sit in the middle seat.

“Thank you.” I smiled shyly. “That’s really generous of you.”

“Oh, not at all.” He swallowed, adjusting his glasses. They really did wonders framing those green eyes of his. Which went quite marvellously with his dark hair, cute smile, and-

Oh, lord.

“I say,” He leaned forwards slightly, eyes widening. “Is that… the _second_ edition?”

“Oh, yes!” I held it up. “A little old, I know but-”

“No, it’s a masterpiece.” He shook his head firmly. “I mean, the shop near me only stocks the blasted _third_ edition. Honestly.”  
“That’s awful!” I gasped. Gods, that was a crime.

“You don’t have to tell me. And I mean the fourth edition is all well and good, marvellous treatise on irrigation and the broader political coercive effects observable compared to non-irrigated areas, but the second edition just has so much more depth of detail on-”

“The influence of the Priesthood!” I blurted out, smiling broadly. 

“Precisely! It’s nice to find-” He smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Are… are you travelling for work too, by any chance?”

“I am.” I smiled, mind racing. No way. Was he… was he a… “State profession on three?”

He nodded eagerly. “One, two-”

“Archaeologist!” We said in unison.

“No way!” I shook my head, laughing. “What are the odds?”

“Pretty slim by my reckoning. Someone’s clearly looking out for me.” He smiled.

I giggled, feeling myself flush slightly. “Okay, okay, charm school. I showed you what I’m reading,” I held up the book meaningfully. “Now you…”

“Ah, of course. Of course. I must prove my bona fides, as they say…” His accent was cute. He bent over to rummage in his bag. I peered over his shoulder, stealing a peek into the bag.

“Is that a travel chess set?” I asked, before he had a chance to take a book out.

“Ah, yes. No room for it in my hold bag.” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s good for the late nights in the desert.”

“Definitely.” I agreed. “But I normally use mine more for warming up my brain, y’know? Getting ready for some hardcore archaeology… if there is such a thing.”

“There most definitely is.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Up for a game?”

“Gee, lemme think. Hell yes!” I beamed. Chess would be great. Would have to be careful with the pieces during takeoff but we could manage.

“Splendid!” He smiled, and dived back into his bag. I felt kind of hot. And buzzy. What was that about?

Celine grinned at me over his shoulder and made a tiger motion, growling quietly but meaningfully.

I flushed bright red, doing my best to glare at her reproachfully. She rolled her eyes, and mouthed something to me: Name.

Name? 

Oh, I hadn’t asked his name, why hadn’t I asked?

“So, should I call you Indiana, or do you have a preferred name?” I asked once he got back up, clutching the travel chess set triumphantly.

“Simon.” He dropped the chess set into his lap and stuck out his hand, flushing slightly. “Simon Humphries.”

“Samantha. Samatha Jennings.” I shook and smiled. He had lovely warm hands. “But please, call me Sam.”

“Sam.” He smiled. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Oh, I had a good feeling about all this. “It’s lovely to meet you too!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we have it! 
> 
> Thank you all for coming on this very long journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you have any thoughts or constructive criticism, I'd love to hear them!


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